


Six Years

by Lydia_Mars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Investigative Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Journalist Betty Cooper, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex, Protective Jughead Jones, Reunion Sex, Smut, Southside Serpent Jughead Jones, Writer Jughead Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:35:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17966708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Mars/pseuds/Lydia_Mars
Summary: When Jughead Jones is 19 he is sentenced to six years in prison. He told her not to wait for him, he's so glad she does.(The course of true love never did run smooth)





	1. Sentencing

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction and I'm quite nervous about posting. I don't have a beta, so sorry for all the errors. The first chapter is light on smut, but it gets dirtier. I hope you like it!

When Jughead Jones is 19 he is sentenced to six years in prison. And it’s not like before, with Archie. No one framed Jughead. No one set him up. There was no coercion. He has done terrible things for the people he loves and it caught up to him. He’s lucky he didn’t get more than six years. 

And, maybe he would have gotten less if he would have told the whole truth and nothing but the truth. But that would have meant implicating Archie, Veronica, Toni, Sweet Pea, Fangs, Josie, Kevin, even Cheryl and goddamn Reggie. But, really, it would have meant implicating _Betty_. So there was no choice at all. One falls so many stay safe. Many who get to live in the world, go to college, move forward, stay free. _Betty_ stays free. No choice at all. 

Before the sentencing, when he’s out on bail those last few months, during daylight hours Betty remains optimistic. While the sun shines she is sure there is no way they will convict. That after everything, the world would never take them away from each other. But late at night, in the dark, in his arms, she breaks and cries. She whispers that no matter what happens she will wait, she will wait forever. Jughead holds her and says nothing. 

The night before sentencing, their last night together, they don’t sleep. They stay up all night. They talk, and hold each other. They make each other come over and over again. His mouth to her center as she rolls her hips and he memorizes her taste. Her in his lap bouncing with his lips pressed to her fluttering pulse, both their release slick on her thighs.

At 5:30am just as the sun begins to rise, he holds her face in his hands. He strokes the soft skin of her cheeks with his thumbs. He leans close so their lips are almost touching and whispers: _Don’t. Don’t wait for me. If it happens, don’t wait. Go to college. Don’t wait. Don’t live half a life for me._

She chokes back a sob and tries to protest but he silences her with a kiss. She’s exhausted, he knows. He waited until she was spent. And she wants to fight him, but can’t bring herself to with sentencing four short hours away. So they kiss and make love one last time. When they’re finished they hold each other more tightly than they ever have before. Betty chants like a prayer _they’ll never take you from me_.

Six years, the judge says. The commotion is disorienting but he hears her through it all, the most gut wrenching heart breaking wail. Their eyes find each other. She’s devastated, he can see it. But at the same time, he sees her swallow it, trying to be strong. 

“25. We’ll only be 25. It’s okay, we’ll be together.” She’s running toward him as he’s being led away. 

“No,” he says and she screams his name. “No,” he repeats. “Don’t wait for me. I don’t want you to.” She’s crying but he’s not. The moment the judge spoke everything inside him died. He’s stone. The words that are coming out of her mouth now are indecipherable. He keeps repeating _No_ until he’s barking at her _I never want to see you again_. He’s never spoken to her this way before. It’s so cruel and she crumbles. His dad catches her. Jughead looks away. 

He’s led out of the courtroom. There are reporters, kids he graduated with, enemies and supporters. He keeps his head down. Somehow, someone breaks through the crowd, black cape trailing behind her. Veronica. 

“Don’t you do this to her.” Veronica is pointing in his face and threatening. She could rip him apart with her bare hands. And for the first time since the judge spoke, a feeling slithers its way inside him. Grateful. He’s grateful she’ll have strong vengeful Veronica. 

When he’s alone in the car, shackled and being taken to prison, the slithering of a feeling comes back. But this time it’s regret. Not big overwhelming crushing regret. Just one little one. He wishes he would have let his gaze linger on Betty a little longer. He might never see her again. 

. . .

He makes the mistake of opening her first letter. He doesn’t read it, just the sight of her handwriting makes him sick. He doesn’t want to imagine what she has to say. He throws it away immediately. After that he carefully returns each one unopened to sender, just so she doesn’t get any ideas that he’s reading them. 

For the first six months she visits every week and he refuses to see her. He hates knowing how close she is. He wants her far from prison. Because she won’t stop showing up and he won’t see her, he doesn’t get to see any visitors the first six months. Eventually he bites the bullet and calls his dad.

“You gotta make her stop,” he tries to sound authoritative but he knows it comes out pleading. 

“Jug,” F.P. stops and starts. “Maybe you should just see her. Give her some closure.” 

“Prison is closure. She’s already wasted six months. She needs to move on. Tell her I’m not going to see her. Tell her I don’t want to see her. It’s over.” 

His dad doesn’t say anything for a long while. The silence from the other end of the phone makes him anxious. And lonely. He hasn’t seen anyone in so long and he just wants to hear his dad’s voice. 

“Okay,” F.P. simply answers. “How they treatin’ you in there, boy?” Jughead breathes a sigh to have the opportunity to talk about or think about anything other than Betty Cooper. Even if it is telling his dad how jail is.

. . .

Jail is awful. Of course it is, it's dehumanizing and pretty much a human rights violation. But he was arrested as the acting Serpent King so at least that offers some protection. Although some protection isn’t total protection. He still has to watch his back. And, in an unexpected way jail makes him feel young again. After everything he and his friends had lived through the last four years, he had felt old beyond his years. But jail shows him that’s not true. He is 19 years old, one of the youngest guys in here. He will truly have so much life to live when he leaves. It terrifies him. The blank space that is his future. 

He does the only thing he can do to keep himself sane. He writes. And of course he writes about her. He writes pages about the unbelievable Hitchcock blonde who solves murders, catches serial killers, bakes birthday cakes, plans jailbreaks, flies around on a motorcycle, a girl who hardly ever musses her perfect ponytail. His life is standing still. All he has is this enclosed building and memories of her.

He hopes she’s out there with endless choices and the whole world spread out before her. 

Archie visits the week Jughead turns 21. Archie comes around a few times a year, but it’s sporadic and never around any milestones. Jughead is suspicious. Because of Jughead’s ‘good behavior’ aka Serpent King privilege he and Archie are allowed to sit at a table together with the nonviolent offenders instead of talking through glass. Archie arrives with a small neatly wrapped package and Jughead feels sick

“Arch, I know that’s from Betty.” Archie tries to feign surprise and innocence. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m in prison man, don’t fucking lie to me.” He eyes the present like it’s lethal, his leg bounces under the table. After two years she still sends him letters once a month and he still sends them back. 

“Jughead, it’s your birthday, just open it. It would mean so much to her. In fact, she’s out in the car, just let her come in and see you,” Archie rambles. 

“Betty’s _here_ ,” Jughead spits. He jumps up out of his seat. He feels nauseous and claustrophobic. A guard comes over to give him a warning and he sits back down. Jughead looks at his best friend. Jughead has had a tattoo cut from his flesh, but this betrayal stings more. “Never. Bring. Her. Here. Again.” He seethes at Archie, his vision white with rage.

Archie looks scared. Of him. Archie looks scared of Jughead and in that moment he realizes that prison has made him a criminal. It has killed the good and gentle parts of him and in its place is all encompassing fury that makes his best friend not recognize him. 

. . .

After Archie leaves Jughead returns to his cell. It’s been five minutes since he left the visitors area and Archie is probably getting in the car to drive away with Betty. He spins around in his cell and tries to face in the direction he imagines they are. Tries to will his body to point toward the true north that is Betty Cooper. 

. . .

That same year he calls Jelly Bean on her birthday. J.B’s voice is one of the few things that inspires hope in him. He can’t imagine his own future, but he can imagine his sisters. She’s smart, she’ll graduate high school, probably even go to college. He’ll be out in time to go to her potential college graduation. Sometimes he thinks he’ll be able to spend the rest of his life observing Jelly Bean and that might not be so bad. 

His sister’s voice is hesitant today. He timed the call to be in the middle of her celebration in Riverdale so she’d be able to pass the phone to his dad for a few minutes. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe the reminder of her jailbird brother brings the vibe of the party down. 

His sister’s voice is low and he can hear she is trying to leave the trailer to talk to him. He’s about to apologize and tell her to forget it, he’ll call her in a couple days, when his sister sucks her breath in abruptly. 

“No,” she hisses at someone. “He might not call me again,” and he hears rustling like someone is grabbing the phone from her.

“Jughead.” Betty Cooper’s unmistakeable breathless voice. Time stops and he grips the receiver and squeezes his eyes shut. Involuntary he lets out a raspy exhale. “Jug, pl-” her voice breaks and he hangs up the phone. He doesn’t try to call anyone again for months. 

After that, her letters stop. 

. . .

With the end of the letters his stomach is full with the familiar feeling of regret and relief. Without the monthly tangible reminder of her, all he has is prison. He does get occasional visits from his dad, sister, and Archie, less occasionally from the Serpents. But she, and any evidence of her, is gone.

Prison, the routine, the grimmyness, the constant threat of violence. That’s his life now. 

And writing. He’s written the same story about her a dozen times over for almost three years. It’s not until the letters stop that he’s able to stop writing about only her. His perspective broadens and he’s able to write about _them_. He’s able to put his life in context, his dad, mom, the Serpents, the Andrew’s, and her. How everything that happened will forever be linked with loving her. How loving her made his life liveable. Now that she’s not contacting him, he allows himself to think about them together and it fills him with relief. She’s moving on, and now he can indulge in the memories of her, of _them_ , without worrying he’ll break down and open one of her letters. In a way, she’s come back to him, and he finally has some peace. 

. . .

When he’s half way through his sentence, Toni and Cheryl visit and announce their engagement. The genuine happiness he feels for them startles him. He didn’t realize he was capable of positive emotions outside of J.B. 

A year and a half later just Cheryl visits and shows him pictures of the wedding. He’s confused to why she’s here but he’s so desperately depressed even a visit from Cheryl Blossom is welcome. He looks at each picture carefully. It’s surreal to see all the people he use to see every day all dressed up and slightly older. He feels like the pictures are the looking glass and he’s Alice trying not to fall into the other world. He notices Betty isn’t included in any of the pictures Cheryl selected to show him and he’s grateful. 

When he hands the photo’s back to Cheryl she strategically keeps her hand in the middle of the table and their fingers brush. He sets his hand down and their pinkies stay touching, it’s so subtle the guards don’t notice. Cheryl ever so slightly moves and strokes her finger against his. He hangs his head because this is the first physical affection he’s felt in years and it’s from Cheryl fucking Blossom.

“Forsyth,” she says formally, “No matter how many years pass I will always remember what you did for me. What your sacrifice meant for my life, for my T.T’s life. None of this would be possible without you.” A tear slides down her face but her countenance remains stoic. 

“I know you’ve been writing,” she continues. “Please send me your pages. Either I personally will help organize them, or I will hire someone if that makes you more comfortable. I believe you have a story to tell. I believe with the right assistance, you will be a published writer.” 

“Cheryl..” he tries to protest. Cheryl stops being coy and covers his hand with hers, her wedding ring glitters in the fluorescent lighting. She squeezes his hand before the guard can reprimand them for touching. 

“Jughead, let me help you with this. You deserve to have something to look forward to after all this is over.”

He can hardly bare to think of the future. He wants to push her away, go back to his cell and be alone with his thoughts. But her warm touch lingers on him, on his fingers, and he can’t believe how much it affects him. A tender touch awakens something deep inside him, memories of being gently touched by the woman he loves. It makes me dizzy and confused and before he can stop himself he hears the words come out of his mouth. “Do you promise no one will see my writing but you and whatever professionals you send it to?” 

Cheryl is not stupid, she knows what he’s asking. “No one even knows I’m here. They don’t have to know we are in contact, let alone that I have access to your writing,” she assures him. 

. . .

With one year left he really and truly gets the shit kicked out of him. It’s some Serpent/Ghoulies bullshit because you can’t escape gangs in prison. When he’s on the ground a sock full of rusty nails comes down hard against the side of his face and he’s a teenager again lying in the woods about to die, except this time his dad won’t come and carry him away at the last second. Before he loses consciousness he thinks the same thing he did then. 

_I love you. I’ll never stop loving you._

. . .

He’s in the infirmary for a month. The scar across his cheek will be there forever and dozens more all over his body. As he lays in bed with the second rate pain meds the prisoners get coursing through his body, he allows his mind to wander further than usual. 

He’s 24 now. Even if Betty took a year off with everything that happened, chances are she’s graduated college by now. She was going to Columbia when he got arrested. Did she go back? Transfer? 

He pictures her, hair down, pastel dress, looking fresh in that way only she can. He pictures her standing on a rooftop with a wine glass in her hand, surrounded by friends and smiling and laughing. 

He’s completely disassociating now. He imagines her getting fucked, by some faceless Archie or Reggie type guy. He imagines her enjoying herself, pulling some moves they never got to try together. He imagines her coming harder than she ever did with him. He imagines it in such detail his beaten drug addled brain knows it must be true. 

. . .

Four months before his release he secures a book deal with the help of Cheryl. In the next year he will be a free man and _The Sweetest Water_ will be published. The future is immediate and abstract. Hope tries to snake around in his chest but he buries it. Even if he will be a published author, he will always be a criminal. A felon. His past will be the dark cloud above him the rest of his life. Even with this deal, he’s seen the statistics, in a few years he might end up right back here. 

He doesn’t dare think about Betty reading his book. His book which is so much about her and his love for her. If he thinks about her holding it, reading his words, his anxiety spikes. So he shoves it out of his mind, compartmentalizes. Prison has made him good at that. All he knows is his life has been standing still for six years, trapped in a stasis, and all he had was writing. If Betty does sneak into his thoughts about the book, he knows no matter what happened between them, she would never begrudge his only means of survival. 

. . .

The last week is the hardest. It’s so close he can taste it, and yet, he understands how people end up back here. He’s scared to leave prison, he has been institutionalized, he’s scared of life on the outside. Of the pressure to make something of himself, to have something to concentrate on other than survival. 

The afternoon before Jughead gets out he calls F.P. He makes his dad tell me him for the 30th time what to expect, what the discharge process is like, where he’ll be waiting for him, what the car will look like, how they will spend his first evening back. Jelly Bean is coming home from college for the weekend (because of course she’s going to college, he knew she would) but the first night will be just the two of them. After his dad explains everything Jughead tries to grill him all over again,

“Boy, you know how tomorrow is going to go, and after that, we’ll take it one day at a time.” F.P. has not always been a good and present father. He didn’t always know how to relate to Jughead, with his writing and love of classic movies. But F.P. has been to prison, several times, so for the first time, he is equipped to parent his son. “Don’t think about next month or even next week. All you have to worry about is tomorrow.” 

He lays in his bunk all night long. He doesn’t sleep, just like his last night as a free man. _Man_ , he thinks _I was just a kid_. He’s scared now, so much more scared than he was the night before sentencing. He’s alone now. He tries not to think about his last night with her. He knows relying on memories of her to calm himself is a crutch, but it’s all he’s got. That last night he didn’t sleep, but there was an hour, before he told her not to wait, after they had already had sex twice, where he lay with his head in her lap and she ran her fingers through his hair. He lay with his eyes closed while she said the sweetest things, about how he was beautiful, she loved his skin, his lips, his hands, all while she stroked his hair gently but firmly. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her stomach. He kept his eyes closed and allowed himself to fully relax.

He closes his eyes. He allows himself to feel the phantom sensations of her fingers and hear the sound of her voice.  
. . .

After four and a half hours of bureaucracy Jughead walks out of the New York State penitentiary for the first time in six years. He does all the clichéd things, he takes a deep breath, lets himself feel the sun on his face. Just stands for a moment and revels in the fact that no guard is about to scream at him, no Ghoulie will jump him, no Serpent will look to him for protection. He is just Jughead standing in the sun. 

He walks to the lot where F.P. said he would be waiting. He sees the old truck and walks toward it, his heart racing with the knowledge that he is about to be driven away from this place. 

The drivers side door opens and the air leaves his lungs. 

Betty Cooper steps out. 

Nothing computes. He is frozen in place. His brain is firing in every direction. Trying to take her in, catalogue everything that is the same and different about her. Trying to sort out why she’s here, how she’s here. 

She strides over to where he has stopped walking. She’s standing in front of him inhaling and exhaling harshly. Her green eyes have never contained so much anger. 

“Six year,” she grinds out. His blue eyes don’t leave her green. “Six years,” she says again more forcefully. Jughead stays motionless. “Six years!” she finally cries out, draws her hand back and slaps him across the face. 

The slap stings so sweetly. He closes his eyes and feels blood flow to his cheek. She slaps him again, on the other cheek. All he can process is that she’s touching him. She hits him two more times and he hopes it burns like this forever and his body always remembers her. 

“Look at me!” she demands, clutching his shirt in her fists and shaking him. When he opens his eyes to stare down at her he is overwhelmed by her closeness, that she is touching him, even in anger. 

_She’s here. Oh god, she’s here._

“Betty,” he finally breathes. There is war going on behind her eyes and her mouth hangs open. “Betty,” he says again and breaks down. He roughly pulls her to him and buries his face in her hair. 

“Betty,” he sobs as tears soak her hair. “Betty, Betty, Betty, Betty.”


	2. Reunited (for now)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has seen him cry before, but she has never seen him weep.
> 
> (After six years of being shut out, Betty Cooper can't take it anymore.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe how many nice comments I have received about this story! It seriously means the world to me. It's been almost a decade of me writing and not sharing with anyone. I am so thankful to how welcoming this fandom has been. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I think it's just as angsty as the first, but a little smuttier. 
> 
> (and I still don't have a beta, so sorry for the mistakes!)

She has seen him cry before, but she has never seen him weep. She has seen tears roll down his cheeks while he swallows a lump in his throat, but she has never seen him break down sobbing. He sags into her and she supports the weight of his body. 

He is murmuring her name and clutching her tightly. She can barely breathe. Her emotions are burning her insides up and she clings to him just as hard. When his sobbing subsides ever so slightly she lifts his head up so she can see his face again. The face she hasn’t seen in six years. He has a deep scar across his cheek. His eyes are red rimmed and unfocused.

“Let’s get you far away from here,” she says to him. He takes a shuddering breath and can hardly manage to nod. 

. . .

Betty tries to track the chain of events that led her to banging on F.P’s door at 11PM last night. She supposes it goes back six years, but all she can focus on is the last six weeks. 

Six weeks ago she showed up early to Cheryl and Toni’s apartment to pick up her niece and nephew. The twins are ten now. They are close like Cheryl and Jason, and sneaky like Polly and Betty. They are a handful. She knows Cheryl and Toni love them, but they will be happy for her extra help. 

When Toni opens the door she’s cagey. “Babe!” she calls to her wife, “Betty’s here, let’s clean up for her.” Immediately Betty is suspicious. The Blossom-Topaz’s employ a full time housekeeper, their home is never messy. Toni lingers in the door frame blocking Betty’s way. She hears Cheryl’s heels clack quickly across the floor. Betty’s instincts kick into overdrive and she pushes her way past the smaller woman. 

Cheryl is hurrying away from her carrying a stack of bound books. Betty knows from her time interning at a publishing house they are proof’s editors send out for notes and copy edits. Cheryl is practically full on running away from Betty which only makes Betty chase. She snatches a copy off the top of the pile. 

_The Sweetest Water_ by F.P Jones III.

“Cheryl, what the _hell_ ,” Betty snaps. “What is this?” she demands. Toni looks guilty, Cheryl looks indignant.

“He wrote a book,” Cheryl answers simply. “He sent me the handwritten pages, I had them typed, edited, and organized. I helped him query and find an agent, than later a publisher. He got a good deal. It’s projected to be on the shelves within the year.”

Betty’s world blows apart. She has so many follow up questions, too many. But she’s speechless. She sits down on the sofa holding the book and shaking. Touching something Jughead created. She can’t bring herself to open it and read a single word. She can’t bring herself to hear his voice in her head as she reads his words. 

She hands the book unopened back to Cheryl which surprises everyone in the room. She sits quietly for a long while. Cheryl and Toni don’t dare to speak either.

“When does he get released?” she finally asks. She knows it’s soon, sometime in the next few months. It’s not like they determine the exact date of release when someone’s sentenced. She’s been watching the calendar these last six years, trying to guestimate when it would be. She knows logically it’s coming up. She’s been trying to push it out of her mind, but she’s been clenching her fists more and more and the bloody scabs on her palms show her true state of being. 

“In about six weeks,” Toni answers. “I don’t know the exact day. But you can call the penitentiary, they would tell you.” 

Call the penitentiary, simple as that. She leaves the Blossom-Topaz’s without her niece and nephew. 

. . .

After that, she calls the prison everyday and asks about his release date. September 7th, they say again and again. He should be through processing by noon. She calls everyday, drunk with the first concrete information she’s had about him in years. It’s a compulsion. Sometimes she calls twice a day. They must know her voice by now. 

Three weeks before September 7th she loses the thread of her life. She breaks up with Adam, her perfectly wonderful boyfriend. He knows all about Jughead. She really tried in this relationship, she didn’t keep secrets. She tells him the truth too, that Jughead is getting out and the thought of it has thrown her. She can’t act like everything is the same when she knows she’s just counting down the days until Jughead will be a part of the world again. 

Adam is understanding, because Adam is good, a good boyfriend. They have been together two years. He tells her he understands she needs time, to call him when everything settles down. 

Betty has no plan. No determined course of action. All she can manage is going to work and trying to limit her calls to the prison to only twice a day. September 7th, they always say. September 7th. 

. . .

On September 6th Betty sits in her apartment all day. She tries unsuccessfully to not dig her nails into her palms. She vibrates with anxiety and does her best to take deep breaths.

. . .

Those first few weeks after Jughead was incarcerated she would have never believed he would be able to shut her out the way he did. He _loved_ her. She never doubted that. She tried every tactic she could think of to get him to see her, to talk to her. She bargained that they didn’t need to stay together, as long as he let her see him occasionally. But the bargaining was pointless because he refused to see her and returned all her letters. 

She begged her friends for any morsels of information about him. But, after whatever happened between Jughead and Archie on Jug’s 21st birthday her friends stopped sharing with her. At first it felt like a conspiracy against her and she doubled down. She’s ashamed of herself when she remembers how she yanked Jelly Bean’s phone out of her hands. 

She heard him breathe through the phone that day. That simple sound still sends shockwaves through her system when she thinks about it. 

But when she saw how heartbroken J.B. was she hated herself. That day, F.P. took her gently aside. 

“Betty, I don’t know why he wants it this way. He won’t talk about you to anyone. But I do know he’s made his decision and you have to start respecting it.” Betty sat silently oscillating between rage and pain. “Don’t you think it’s time you go back to school?” F.P. asked.

“I am in school,” she replied obstinately.

“You know I don’t mean Riverdale Community College. While I’ve appreciated your help when Jelly is down to visit, this isn’t the place for you.” 

“F.P,” she said, her voice cracking. “I just miss him. Just, please, tell me how he is,” she begged. 

F.P. sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Betty, he hasn’t said as much, but I know my boy. This isn’t what he wants for you. He doesn’t want you near that prison, putting your life on hold, worrying about him.”

“But what about what I want? How I am just supposed to forget?” The questions she’s wanted to scream at Jughead so many times. How dare he make this decision for her? 

“Betty, what you and my son had was beautiful. Me, and anyone that looked at the two of you knew it was special. I’m not saying what he’s doing is fair, but neither one of you ever got a fair shake of anything. And boy, am I sorry for that. I’m sorry we couldn’t protect you kids better and now you’re suffering. And whether or not it’s fair, it’s what’s happening. Betty, you are a smart girl, don’t waste it.”

That night after her talk with F.P. she cried and cried as she clutched the precious item she had swiped before she left the trailer. Because Jug’s dad was right. It wasn’t fair, but she had to accept reality, no matter how painful. 

So, she returned to Columbia. She graduated only a few semesters late, when she was 23. At that point she and Jughead had been separated as long as they had been together. 

She mourned Jughead as if he had died. It was almost easier to just eliminate all hope that they would ever see each other again. But grief isn’t a straight line. Some days she would be optimistic about her future, but other days she wouldn’t leave her bed. She would lay there and try to remember every time he kissed her on the forehead. Every time she leaned against him at Pop’s with her arm propped up on his shoulder. Every time he held her face in his hands.

And sometimes, on particularly dark days, after she’d had some drinks, she’d put her hand between her legs and masturbate to memories of him. He loved to tease her until she begged. He loved when she’d whisper hotly in his ear _fuck me Juggie_. He would push into her, tell her what a _good girl_ she was, how he loved how wet she was. 

She would rub herself until she was sweating and needy. Then she’d push her fingers inside herself and would think about him doing it to her _ride my hand baby_ he’d demand _make yourself come, soak me up to my wrist_. When she would finish he’d lick her wetness off his fingers. 

When she comes alone, she rolls over to her side, and cries herself to sleep.

. . .

On the 6th of September she paces around her tiny apartment all day, clenching and unclenching her fists. Every second that ticks by she loses touch with reality a little more. Should she call Archie? Or Veronica? They are still her friends, always will be. But she had needed space from them. Her love for them always had threads to her love for Jughead. She’s alone with this. 

At 7:30PM she stares into the darkness of the city, her palms flat against her windows. She leaves streaks of blood when she moves them. 

She never makes the conscious decision to leave her apartment, take the subway to Grand Central Station, then a train to Riverdale, then walk almost three miles to the Sunnyside trailer park. But, she shows up at F.P’s trailer all the same. 

F.P. opens the door and before he can get a word out she’s begging. 

“Please, please let me be the one to get him tomorrow.” 

F.P. motions her inside and closes the door. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea B-,” and then any semblance of control she had been holding onto the last few weeks leaves her. 

“Six years!” She breaks apart. “Six years F.P. And if I don’t take this chance to see him when he needs me for a ride, this might be my only chance. My one last chance,” her breathing is erratic. 

She must look crazy. She feels crazy. F.P. puts a cautious hand on her arm. But she’s a wild animal and as soon as he makes contact with her skin she screams and falls to the floor. “Six years!” she screams again, clawing her nails into the carpet of the trailer.

F.P. crouches down on the floor and doesn’t try to sooth her. “What are you going to do when you see him?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “I just need to see him again. I’ve been living like he’s dead. But he’s not dead, he’s alive. I just need to see him alive. I just need to see him alive,” she repeats again and again as means of explanation. 

F.P. studies her, clearly conflicted. But in the end he takes pity on her. “Here are the keys to my truck. Are you going to be okay to drive by yourself?”

“Yes,” she responds, holding the truck keys tightly so they dig into the wounds of her hands. She gets up to leave when F.P. stops her.

“Girlie, it’s the middle of the night. He’s not getting out of there until noon tomorrow, lay down, get some sleep.” 

“I can’t. I just - I just, need to drive there. I’ll wait in the parking lot. I’ll wait all night. I just want to be as close to him as I can.” 

. . .

Betty showed up in Riverdale in only a little white t-shirt, high waisted cut off jean shorts, and white sneakers. F.P. handed her a flannel as she was leaving so she didn’t get cold waiting in the truck all night. It was an old one of Jugheads. 

She lay down on the bench seat of the truck and wrapped his shirt around herself. She didn’t even attempt at sleep, she just needed to calm her racing mind. She had no plan, no agenda, she was being driven by pure need. 

She was thinking of everything and nothing all at once. She kept having to remind herself to breathe. She was going to see him again. In less than 12 hours, he would be alive and in front of her. 

Their last night together she was torn between panic that he would be taken away from her, and trying to force the intrusive negative thoughts out, like she was jinxing their situation just by thinking of them. But at one point, he lay his head in her lap and closed his eyes. She caressed his hair. He relaxed and she took the opportunity to memorize him. She had spent the last four years learning all parts of him, but this last night she wanted to imprint not just the way he looked, but the very essence of what it was to be close to him. 

She stroked his thick dark hair, gently ran her fingers along his jaw, took in every freckle and mole. His long eyelashes. His full lips. He was perfect. 

It’s this memory that always calms her. His soft skin under her finger tips as he breathed easy.

. . .

The sun rose and she waited. Fleetingly she couldn’t help but think it was too bad she has been awake for almost 24 hours, was in wrinkled clothes, and had no make up on. Her lips were chapped and cracked from biting them all night and she didn’t even want to think about her hands. No one wants to look like a deranged homeless woman in front of an ex. 

_An ex_. How could that ever be an accurate description of what he was to her? 

When she sees him again for the first time in six years she has the sudden urge to get out of the truck and run away before he notices her. Nothing could have prepared her for the onslaught of emotions she felt. 

Just like she found herself in front of F.P. trailer not knowing how she got there, before she knows it she’s standing in front of Jughead and rage is the first emotion that explodes from her body. She hits him, which is so beyond anything she could have ever imagined she could do to him, but she is beyond reason and control. His eyes are closed and she goes feral, beating against his chest and shaking him. Demanding he acknowledge her. 

When they make eye contact, she sees him. She finally fucking sees him for the first time in six years. 

Then he breaks down onto her and the world collapses in on itself.

 

. . .

 

In the truck he props his elbows on his knees and holds his face in his hands. She drives recklessly away from the prison. Her hands slide over the steering wheel. She realizes her scabs have opened up and she’s bleeding. She glances over at Jughead and sees blood stains on his shirt from her hands. 

They drive in silence for ten miles. The only sounds is both of their labored breathing. She can hardly keep her eyes on the road. She keeps glancing at him, he keeps his head in his hands. It’s all happening too fast. She’s hardly had anytime to look at him.

She can’t take it anymore. She swerves off the road. The abrupt motion cause Jughead to look up and she’s breathless all over again from making eye contact with him. His blue eyes. His new scar. 

She jumps out of the truck and yanks open the passengers side door.

“Can you get out? Please?” she asks him. She’s trembling and overwhelmed with the need to just _look_ at him, uninterrupted. 

He does, wordlessly. If he’s confused by her actions he doesn’t show it. His face is unreadable. 

“I just want to look at you,” she admits and his expression doesn’t change. 

They stand three feet apart staring at each other. She inhales sharply when she realizes how deep the scar across his cheek is.

“Your cheek…” she trails off. “What else,” she demands. “What else happened?” He hesitates but then he pulls off his shirt. She sucks in her breath. His body has changed. He was toned and fit as a teenager, but now he has the body of a man. But it’s the scars that litter his body that preoccupy her. She remembers how pain would shoot through her when she would see the flesh on his shoulder where his tattoo was skinned from him. Now that’s not his worst mark. He has new tattoo’s too. More elaborate snakes, a crown above his heart. She ignores the tiny B she sees etched into the point of the crown. 

She reaches out and touches a slash that goes across his abdomen, he flinches but doesn’t pull away. 

She moves her hand back. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “Can I touch you?” He swallows thickly and nods. She takes a step closer, and she can’t help herself, she puts her palm over the crown tattoo and presses her middle finger into the tiny B. He’s barely breathing as she runs her hands over his changed body. 

She looks up and his expression is still indecipherable. 

“I’ve changed too,” she stammers. She sheds the flannel and her t-shirt and she thinks maybe his gaze darkens. Arousal shoots to her core. 

“See?” She shows him a burn mark that goes from her shoulder to collar bone. “I was working at a bakery and was balancing a hot tray in a stupid way. It was years ago, but I think that mark will be there forever.” He’s looking at the scar but also her hands she used for gesturing. He sees the open wounds on her palms. She turns them away. 

“There’s more,” she presses on, unbuttoning her jean shorts and pushing them down. “Right here,” she motions. “I had an emergency appendectomy my last semester of college. It was finals and I thought it was just a stomach ache. Kevin needed to call an ambulance when I passed out. That’s why the scar is so bad,” she explains the jagged scar across her lower right stomach.

His fingers twitch as he looks at her marred skin. “It’s okay,” she encourages “you can touch it.” 

Instead of reaching over Jughead gets down on his knees. The tender space between her legs quivers and pulses at the image of him down in front of her. Her mouth is dry. Her skin is too tight for her body. He places one hand on her upper thigh and his other on her hip. She’s trembling and she leans against the side of the truck for support. His hand moves from her hip across her stomach to her scar. His fingertips ghost over the mark. Then he leans his forehead against her pelvis and inhales. She can’t help the breathy noise that escapes her when he does that. 

His thumb strokes her inner thigh. Betty’s head swims. 

“Jesus, you’re dripping,” Jughead rasps. Betty loses it. Her pussy clenches and she practically comes just from his words. It’s the only thing he’s said out loud to her other than murmur her name like a prayer back at the prison. 

She wraps her fingers in his hair and presses his head harder into her center, until is nose is just above her clit. “Please, Juggie,” she begs in a high pitched whimper, “please touch me.” 

Jughead jerks his head back and his gaze burns into hers. He moves so the heel of his hand rubs roughly against her clit while his fingers are spread out over her lower stomach. Her underwear is already so slick the motion makes the fabric move against her folds and she bucks her hips and pants. 

She throws her head back, breaking eye contact with him. It only takes him a few more rough passes and she comes embarrassingly quickly. She can feel her wetness seeping out of her.

Jughead keeps his hand where it is as he stands up. He places his other hand on the back of her neck and cradles her head so she has to look at him. 

“Again,” he demands. 

“Please, please again,” she begs. He changes the angle of his hand. The heel of his hand still on her clit but now his fingers massage her opening. “Please, pease please,” she whines, and Jughead pushes her underwear aside and plunges into her. 

He fucks her with his fingers and she rides his hand with abandon. They look into each others eyes breathing harshly. Her nipples strain against her bra. He curls his fingers inside her and she comes again in hardly no time at all. 

They press their foreheads together as he sucks his fingers clean and moans. 

She cups his face with her hands and whispers “Will you fuck me? Please, Juggie.” 

In a flash he lifts her up and lays her against the truck’s bench seat. She unhooks her bra and he rips her underwear down her legs. He takes a moment to look at her naked, his gaze hazy. Then he spreads her legs and swipes at her wet folds. He leans down to put his face between her thighs but she pulls him up by the hair. 

“Don’t make me wait anymore.” With that he shucks his pants and underwear and climbs into the truck. He hooks her knee under his arm to spread her open wider. He rubs himself where she’s wettest and she bites her lips and groans. She can feel him lining up to enter her and she grabs his hair again so they are staring at each other. His eyes are dark. It frightens her that he can be someone she knows so intimately and a stranger. 

“Talk to me,” she pleads. She badly wants to hear his voice again, just as badly as she wants to be fucked. 

“How are you more beautiful?” he asks gently. His eyes have a spark in them and her heart splits open with the familiarity of the look he’s giving her. But before she can dwell on it too long, he thrusts into her. With his cock moving inside her, her vision blacks out. She knows she must scream and dig her nails into his back because next thing she knows Jughead is pounding into her with a wild expression on his face. 

“Did you miss me?” she coaxes. “Did you miss your little Serpent Slut?” She uses the dirtiest term of endearment he had for her. One they only whispered to each other during their roughest bouts. 

“Fuck,” he grinds out and lifts her other leg so it’s over his shoulder as he quickens his pace. 

“Say it,” she demands. “Tell me I’m your Serpent Slut.” She is far gone. Her only coherent thought is she needs to be possessed by him, owned by him completely. Even if this is the last time. 

His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. He weaves his fingers through her hair and tugs hard. “You’re so good at taking this cock. You’re so good, baby,” he praises and Betty moans in delight. Both her legs are over his shoulders now as he leans forward and practically bends her in half as he fucks her. “And everyone knows what a good girl Betty Cooper is. But not everyone knows what a good little slut you are. You are a serpent slut. But only for me. Only for my cock.” 

Betty doesn’t think she could possibly get any wetter. The way he is fucking her is brutal, exactly what she needs. For the first time in probably six years she is able to tune out all the horrible white noise that plagues her. All she feels is him driving into her. All she thinks about is pleasure and that she is about to come. 

“Juggie-” she whines.

“It’s okay baby, I got you. Come with me. I want to feel you drench me.” Jughead puts his hand between them and rubs her clit. His thrusts remain relentless. Her eyes roll back in her head and her hips meet his. When she comes she opens her mouth but she doesn’t know if she screams because all she sees is stars and all she feels is him.

“Good girl, good girl,” Jughead murmurs as she clenches around him. He grips her hips and she hopes his fingers leave bruises. He slams into her two more times and she can tell by the noises he's making and the way he’s tensing that he’s finishing too. 

Her legs fall from his shoulders and she wraps them around his waist and pulls him flush against her. He gathers her up in his arms and lifts her so she’s sitting on his lap. He’s still inside her. 

They sit motionless, intertwined with each other. Betty holds her breath so she can hear him breathe. When she moves her hands to stroke the hair on the back of his neck, he clears his throat. 

“I’ll get our clothes,” he says. She gets off him and he winces when he leaves her body. He picks her clothes up from the dirt where she left them, trying to shake them off. Before he hands them to her he pauses. His eyes roam from her face down her naked body. He reaches out and skims his hand down the side of her, caresses just the edge of her breast all the way to her hip. He closes his eyes and sighs. Then he hands her her clothes. 

Jughead and Betty get dressed. The whole experience is surreal. 

Next thing she knows she’s driving again. His cum and hers has leaked out of her and dried on her thighs. They are almost to Riverdale. Jughead has his arm throw around the back of the seat, his fingertips inches from her shoulder. They only temporary fucked some of the tension away because as Betty approaches Sunnyside she finds her lungs restrict.

She holds the steering wheel tightly and looks at Jughead. “Will this be the last time I see you?” she asks him. 

Jughead jerks his gaze toward her. He looks haunted. “I don’t know. No, I mean, no. I don’t want this to be the last time.”

Tears burn behind her eyes and she turns to him. “What do you want, Jug? Just tell me what you want.”

The look on his face floods her with memories. It’s the same way he looked at her the night of the jubilee. Right before he told her he loved her. _I love you, Betty Cooper_. His face is open, and vulnerable, and he finally, finally wears an expression she recognizes.

“I want to help you clean up your hands. I want to fall asleep tonight in your bed, with you.” The words come out of his mouth like he can hardly dare to speak them. Like they floated out without his permission.

They pull up to F.P.’s. The older man must have heard the truck coming because he bursts out of the trailer and heads right for them. 

“Okay,” she agrees before Jughead opens the door of the truck to see his dad. Jughead turns to her, incredulous. But before he can say anything else F.P. hauls him out of the truck into a hug.

When the men end their embrace she can see Jughead is smiling and it cuts through her like a knife. She realizes this is the first time he’s smiled since he’s been released. 

F.P. pokes his head in the truck. “What’s the plan, Betty? Want to come in for awhile? Are you heading back to Brooklyn tonight?” 

“I - um, I’m going to sleep at my mom’s tonight. Or, uh, my mom’s house, she’s not there right now. I’m just going to head over there now.” Betty gets out of the truck and turns away from the Jones men. 

“Betty, wait,” she turns back around when she hears Jughead’s voice. They look at each other, both open and unsure. “I’ll go with you,” he says and it takes her breath away. “Just, let me spend some time with my dad.”

“Of course,” Betty says, “I’ll wait out here.” 

Jughead and his dad go inside. She sits on the front steps and wraps her arms around her knees. She has the urge to run away again. She can’t process what is happening. It’s like she's stepped into an alternate dimension. He’s alive. They had sex. He didn’t kiss her. His lips didn’t even brush against her. He hasn’t smiled, not at her. He wants to fall asleep with her tonight. She’s so eager to be near him and so mad at him. She digs her nails in, but her palms are already so sore. The sting isn’t satisfying. 

In less time than she expected he’s walking out of the trailer.

“Don’t you want to spend more time with your dad?” she asks. 

“No, I saw him last week. He visited all the time. And I told him I’d be back in the morning.” The implication of F.P.’s visits hang between them. F.P. visited all the time. F.P. was allowed to visit. She wasn’t. Her anger flares again. But it’s hard for her to direct it at him, this present Jughead, the one she still can’t believe is in front of her in the flesh. 

He must sense her conflict because he doesn’t say anything as they silently walk toward Elm Street. 

And there are so many things unsaid between them. Where is she even supposed to start? Anything could lead to a fight, and she doesn’t want to fight with him tonight. Tonight she just wants to have him back and push off all complications for one more day. 

. . .

They get to her house and there is awkwardness between them, but not exactly tension. 

“I’m guessing you probably want to shower,” she says, and he nods. She wishes he would just talk to her. “I mean I can’t imagine prison showers were…” and she trails off because the reminder that he was just in _prison_ for six years. A place she’s sure was unimaginably terrible. A place where he got new horrible scars all over his body. It’s too much for her. Jughead looks grateful she doesn’t continue. 

“Well, I’m sure you remember where it is,” she gestures to the stairs. He nods then pauses.

“What about you?” he asks and her heart flutters hearing his voice.

“What about me?”

“Don’t you want to shower?”

“I can, once you’re done. It’s fine. You take as long as you want,” she says. Jughead looks over her carefully, his gaze lingering on her hands. 

“What about your hands? Won’t the soap sting?” He asks. Betty puts her hands behind her back.

“It’s fine, they’re fine,” she insists.

“I can-” his voice breaks, “I can help. I can wash your hair for you.” Her heart hammers in her chest. 

“Okay,” she says. 

In the bathroom they undress in front of each other and get in the shower. Jughead turns away from her and lets the hot spray hit his back. He rests his arms on the tiles and just lets the hot water wash over him. Betty reaches over, and despite her sore hands, she massages his shoulders like she use to when they were teenagers in his trailer. She hears him moan, but it’s not sexual like it was in the truck. The noise is one of deep relief and it makes her kneed harder, getting all knots out of his back. She’s surprised he’s letting her. He’s actually relaxing. 

When she gets to his lower back he turns around and brushes some wet hair away from her forehead. The wall that he has had up since she picked him up is slightly lowering. Like a dark cloud that blocks out the sun is slowly passing. His eyes aren’t clear, but she can see through. See through to him. 

She reaches her hand up and gently strokes his jaw. He closes his eyes and slightly leans into her touch. Then he covers her hand with his and says “Let me wash your hair.” Now it’s Betty’s turn to only nod. 

She turns around and she feels Jughead work shampoo through her hair. His hands are strong and competent. He rinses her hair and she sighs and leans back into him. Their naked bodies are wet and pressed against each other. The water is warm and she thinks if he tried anything he could get her going. But instead he slides his arms around her front, above her breasts, across her collar bone, and holds her close. She doesn’t desire his hands lower. She just wants to bask in them being together. 

He squeezes her tighter and she feels his face in her hair. She feels the trembling of his body and his wet inhale and exhale, and she knows he’s crying again. She lifts her face and lets the water wash away her own tears. 

After their shower, when they are wrapped in towels, she sits on the closed lid of the toilet as Jughead raids the medicine cabinet to patch up her hands. She wants to do it herself. She’s ashamed of how bad they are. But when Jughead kneels before her and takes her wrists in his hands she finds herself uncurling her fingers. 

There is a slight tremor in his hold when he sees how bad it really is. She wants to yank them out of his line of vision. 

He pours the disinfectant on and she hisses. As he works he clears his throat and asks “So, what do you do?” 

“For a job?” she clarifies.

“Yeah, for a job.”

“I’m an investigative journalist. It’s mostly freelance, but I got grant last year. I’m doing alright.” As she speaks Jughead’s eyes are lighting up. It makes her feel like a balloon is expanding in her chest. “I graduated from Columbia. I did well. Right now I’m actually working with some other journalists on a piece about sex trafficking versus sex work. It’s a difficult topic, but being able to get the nuances of it, these are the kinds of things that prompt policy changes.” She’s babbling but Jughead is _smiling_ up at her as she talks about her life and accomplishments. And maybe it’s childish, but part of her wants him to be proud of her. 

“I knew it,” he breathes with reverence. “I knew you’d do something extraordinary. Something important.” With that, she jerks back because she realizes her hard work justifies his decision. He notices her expression change but he presses on. He rests his hands on her knees for emphasis. “Look at you, writing about sex trafficking? Degree from Columbia? What if I would have stood in the way of all that?” She thinks the question might be rhetorical but she doesn’t care. 

“It wasn’t your decision to make. We were partners. It’s not what I wanted,” she’s having trouble holding back the tears, but his eyes are still shining with pride. 

“You’re right, it’s not what you wanted. It’s what I wanted. I didn’t want to be with you.” Hearing him say it like that makes her recoil with rejection and feel so foolish. She want to get out of the bathroom and get dressed but he holds her in place. “Betty, it would have killed me to see you and not be able to touch you. To know you were worrying about me. It would have kept you too close to the Serpents. It would have held you back. But most importantly, don’t lie to me and say it would have made you happy. Seeing me in jail would not have made you happy.”

“Don’t tell me how I would have felt,” she bites out but her stomach churns because part of her knows he’s right. 

“Then tell me right now. Look me in the eyes and tell me you would have been happier to stay with me through prison. To see me after the times I got jumped and you wouldn’t have been able to lay a hand on me to comfort me. Tell me it wouldn’t have consumed your life,” he demands, his hands squeezing her legs. 

Her words are caught in her throat because she wants to petulantly lie to his face but she can’t. Instead she squeaks out “It didn’t have to be all or nothing. You could have let me see you. You could have read my letters,” she says as a tear slides down her cheek. 

Now he looks truly heartbroken, his grip on her thighs lessens. “No, I couldn’t have. I’m only human. It would have been too much for me.” 

Betty closes her eyes and nods. Because as mad as she’s been at him, as desperately as she’s missed him, she does understand. He’s cupping her face with his hands now, wiping her tears away with his thumbs and it’s too tender. It makes her feel fractured. She puts her hands overtop his to still him. “Can we just - stop talking and go to bed. Please?” she asks. 

He sighs and rests his head on her lap for a moment. “Yes,” he answers “I would love that.”

They lay down in Betty’s white bed. So many times in the past Betty fell asleep with her head resting on Jughead’s chest, but tonight, Jughead lays down and rests his head on her. She wraps her arms around him and holds him. She gently runs her fingers through his thick beautiful hair. 

She hears him sniffle and for the third time today Jughead Jones cries. But this time it’s quiet and subtle. She wants to whisper _I love you_ but she’s too scared. So instead she keeps stroking his hair until his tears stop and the exhaustion of the last 24 hours catches up with them. They fall asleep together for the first time in six years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to hear from some of you guys again! It was so nice some of you reached out on my silly art goth tumblr, it truly makes me indescribably happy. 
> 
> Let me know what you think or come say hi at itstrashwitch@tumblr.com


	3. Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead wakes up screaming. 
> 
> (The pain of the past stands in the way of the future)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing a midweek update because this chapter is short and upsetting. I'm planning to post the next chapter on Friday so you guys don't have to wait too long. This chapter is not the most fun, but I hope you stick with me!
> 
> And I don't have a beta, all the errors are from my lazy brain. 
> 
> I have been so grateful for the support this fic has gotten. I'm working hard to not let you down :)

He wakes up screaming. 

It was less than a year ago that he survived a beating that nearly killed him. His last few months in prison, freedom was so close. He was on high alert at all times, just wanting to make it out alive. He barely slept. Not that sleep had ever come easy locked up. They never turn off the lights there, people yell all night long. But he held it together, he kept it together, and he got out. 

And last night, well in this moment, his brain isn’t letting him remember last night. His brain is punishing him for relaxing. For letting his guard down. His brain can’t keep up, isn’t explaining to him where he is. All he feels is the adrenaline boiling in his veins. His flight or fight response has been activated and it’s all fight. 

Hands are touching him. To restrain him. To stab him. To assault him. Fight Fight Fight. He snaps and grabs his assailant by the throat. 

But his vision clears and reality crashes into him. He is in Betty’s room. He has her shoved against her headboard with his hands around her neck. 

He lets go and scrambles away from her out of the bed to the other side of the room. She looks absolutely terrified. Of him. Fires inside him rage. The fighting for his life response is replaced by ugly self loathing, blistering anger at himself. He needs somewhere for the fire to go. 

He punches her wall until the drywall cracks and his knuckles bleed. 

“Jughead, STOP,” he hears her hoarsely call out. He stops but doesn’t turn around to face her. 

“I’m sorry, Jesus. Betty, I’m so sorry.” He leans his forehead to the wall and tries to control his breathing. But memories from last night crush him. Betty’s flushed face, touching her again, her touching him. The tenderness. The heart splitting tenderness she showed him, and she allowed him to show her. 

Yesterday was the most beautiful dream. And even though he had actively tried to fight against it, he couldn’t help it, hope had snaked its way into his head and heart. Nothing concrete, he didn’t allow himself to fantasize about anything tangible. But he went to bed last night with the hope that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be the last time he fell asleep with the love of his life. 

He hears her get out of bed and walk toward him. Before she can get too close he turns to face her and puts his hands up.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warns her. She stops and looks scared but determined. More memories from yesterday slam into him and he can hardly bare it. She’s standing in front of him in her tiny sleep clothes, her cheeks pink, her hair slightly tousled. She’s a goddamn Angel and he’s a monster. “This,” he hisses, “is why I didn’t want you near me ever again. I am fucking ruined.” 

“No.” Betty is shaking her head, “No, this isn’t you. I know you’ve been through unimaginable trauma,” she stutters but Jughead cuts her off.

“You have no idea what I’ve been through.” Watching his back all the time, from a Ghoulie, or a guard, or a traitorous Serpent. Walking around knowing any second someone could jump him. Stab him. Kill him. He knows these feelings and this anxiety will never leave him. “I will never get over it. This is who prison made me. This is who I am now. I don’t want you anywhere near me.” He pulls on his jeans and makes to leave. 

“Don’t you dare leave me again.” He can hear the rage building in her voice. “You’re going to quit without even trying? Without even trying to get better for me?” 

“I just fucking strangled you!” he explodes. “If anybody else put hands on you like that, I’d kill them and happily go back to prison for the rest of my life. Do I need to say it again? Prison fucking ruined me. What, you think I need some therapy? All this shit inside me, it makes me dangerous, and volatile. And I think you were on a pretty good fucking path before I showed up again. I bet before I got out no one was putting hands on you first thing in the morning.”

“Why is it so easy for you to walk away from me?” she asks delicately, with shame and disappointment in her tone. And it cuts through him, because doesn’t she know? Nothing has ever been harder, but he also has never loved anything more. He almost falters when he looks into her eyes. There are still traces of fear, but what he mostly sees is sorrow. But then he sees the red marks on her neck, the marks from him.

“I’d rather never see you again than have anything close to what just happened ever be repeated.” 

Betty steps closer to him. He tries to keep her at bay with a warning look. But since when did he ever have any control over Betty Cooper? She brings her hands up to hold his face and he wants to jerk away from her, but she’s always been able to disarm him.

“You need help,” she says, but not accusatorially. “I know that. I understand that. Today, I’m going back to Brooklyn. I’m going to work my job. I’m going see my friends. I am _not_ going to get back together with the boyfriend I broke up with the second I found out you were getting released.” That statement makes him want to look away, but she holds him firm in her hands. “And you are going to go to F.P.’s. You’re going to let him help you. You’re going to see a therapist. You are going to start a life with the money from the book advance. You are going to work on yourself. Hell, maybe even try dating. And someday, maybe soon, maybe not so soon, you’re going to come find me. And I’m going to be waiting for you.” Her gaze seers into his. 

“I don’t want you to wait for me,” he challenges. Betty doesn’t deserve this. Just like she doesn’t deserve a serial killer dad and a control freak mom. She doesn’t deserve waiting around for her excon boyfriend to get enough therapy so his PTDS doesn’t make him attack her. It makes him sick. 

He watches her jaw set in defiance and he knows she’s going to fight him. He doesn’t want her to wait around, but it’s something else too. And he owes her the truth. “And what if - what if I never get better?” he whispers. 

Her features stay strong as her eyes search his face, she’s still cupping his cheeks. “Yesterday, when I picked you up, I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know what I wanted. It was an out of body experience. I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to. But I know now, just like I knew when you told me not to wait for you six years ago. I can’t, Jughead. Maybe when you’re out there getting better you’ll meet someone. You can try to date. You can see what it’s like trying to be with someone who’s not your soulmate.” She takes a breath and steps closer to him. “When you were in prison, I tried. I lived like you were died. Like there was no chance we would ever see each other again. I dated, I had a boyfriend, and Jug, I tried with him. I really tried. But there was always this little piece of me that wasn’t in it. I decided the piece must have died with you. But now you’re here, and I’m alive again.” Her eyes shine as she speaks. 

“Betty, I’m not the person who left you. I’m so much worse.” He feels defeated.

“Jughead, do you still love me?” she asks in a hushed tone. His throat closes up because how can she even ask him that? He wants to tell her she's everything, but he fleetingly thinks she’ll probably read his book soon enough. Instead of confessing out loud, he simply nods. 

“Why don’t you understand? I love you as much as you love me.” His heart flutters and his hands shake and he can’t stop himself from placing them on her hips and rubbing his thumbs against the bare skin of her waist. With his touch her whole body releases tension and he can’t believe she’s finding comfort in him after what just happened. 

“I’m going back to New York,” she states again. “I am going to live my life, but part of me, a big part of me, will always know you’re out there. And even if I try my best I know I will always be waiting for you. So, please,” she pleads, tears are rolling down her cheeks now. “Please, come find me.” 

He can’t speak. His hands move from her waist to her back as he pulls her to him. They hug and feel each other's heart beats rattle their bodies. He wishes he could promise her a future. He wants to give her anything and everything, but he’s so, so scared. He’s scared he’ll become a statistic and end up in prison again. Scared he’ll turn to alcohol like his father did so many times in the past. Scared this violence inside him will never leave and he’ll always be a powder keg waiting to go off. He’s scared this is the last time he’ll ever hold Betty Cooper. He never wants to let her go.

But, eventually, he’s the one that untangles them. If he stays one second longer, he may never leave her, and they are both not ready for that. 

As he goes to leave, he hears her strangled voice. “Jughead, if you really still do, could you - could you say it out loud?” She’s blinking back tears again. “I just haven’t heard it in so long.” 

He’s suffocating for a moment, there is no air in his lungs to get the words out. Because all this terrifies him. These feelings and these words, they keep him tied to her when he knows he should leave her. But they hum through him, the words that were his mantra in prison. His heart is in his throat and he can’t deny her. He looks into her eyes.

“I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.” 

She inhales lips parted. He opens the door and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urg. I hope no one is too mad at me. But don't worry, there are two more (much lengthier) chapters before this story ends! 
> 
> I love hearing from you guys, so let me know what you think (even if this chapter is frustrating you) <3


	4. Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty does the only thing she can do, she throws herself into work.
> 
> (Betty recklessly distracts herself)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one week! Last update was too sad, I couldn't leave it at that. This one is still angsty but with a side of smut. 
> 
> Thank you for your continued support. Updating and hearing from you guys is the best <3

Betty does the only thing she can do, she throws herself into work. 

She was telling Jughead the truth about working on a collaborative piece with other journalists about the difference between sex trafficking and consensual sex work. Before Jughead, she was interviewing academics and survivors, sitting in coffeeshops writing, having stippers over for tea. But after she saw Jughead, something shook loose inside her. Now she’s staying out late on corners. She’s walking around in tiny outfits. She's trying to talk to street girls who look young. She follows them when they get in cars. She follows the men when they’re done. She’s climbing up fire escapes, she’s stealing things out of trash cans, she’s taking pictures. She knows she’s close to danger, but she can’t stop herself. 

Seeing Jughead ignited a part of her that has been long dormant. The reckless go-getter. Except in the past he was there to support her and pull her back when she got just too close to the edge. He never told her she couldn’t, but he balanced her. Now she’s old Betty. But no one’s here to stop her from putting on her skimpiest clothes to walk the corners to see what kinds of men try to pick her up. To see who picks up the too young girls who walk beside her. 

She stays up late. She writes during the day. She only sleeps 3 to 4 hours at a time. Because if she doesn’t, if she stops for just a second, she thinks about Jughead. Is he sleeping peacefully? Is he drinking with F.P? Is he talking to Jelly Bean? All the questions pile up and she needs to fill her mind with other thoughts. So she chooses thoughts of helping exploited girls. 

Much like when he was locked up, her friends offer no information about Jughead. She knows they are seeing him. Archie and Veronica conspicuously spends more time in Riverdale these days, as do Toni and Cheryl. She tries to be happy his friends are around him, and she is, to some extent. But jealousy also eats away at the lining of her stomach. Every time one of them posts an instagram of Sweetwater River, or a milkshake from Pop’s, she runs to the street to chase leads. 

. . .

“You look like shit, cousin.” 

“Thanks, Cheryl,” Betty grumbles and sips her coffee. She knows her ponytail is greasy and not pristine. She knows her clothes are slightly rumpled, and she may have not washed all her dark eye makeup off after her undercover street walk last night. 

“I know this is about Jughead,” Cheryl states and Betty chokes on her coffee. Just hearing his name stuns her. “I know we’re all supposed to pretend he doesn’t exist. That just hearing his name, or him hearing yours will send you both into a spiral, but I’m tired handling you with kid gloves.” 

Betty sits, mouth agape. She doesn’t know how to respond. 

“And maybe it’s easier for Archie and Veronica. Maybe they really believe him when he acts like he can okay without you. But,” Cheryl pauses eyeing her up, “Archie and Veronica haven’t read his book.” 

Betty swallows and tries to decide how to proceed. Cheryl is dangling her knowledge of Jughead, baiting her, and she doesn’t know why. 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

Cheryl softens. “I’m a selfish person, Betty. Ultimately I look out for myself, my wife, and my niece and nephew. But I never forget loyalty. I’ll never forget it was you and Jughead who solved my brothers murder. It was Archie who pulled me out of the river. Veronica and Josie helped Toni break me out of The Sisters. The Pussycats saved me from Nick St. Claire.” Her eyes momentarily flutter shut. But she opens them again and forcefully looks at Betty. “It was Jughead who kept all of us out of jail. All these things that have happened to us, we always push forward like it’s normal. We have spent a decade normalizing our trauma. But it’s not normal, Betty. What is normal and stable and happy is my life with Toni. And I will never forget how I got here.” Cheryl reaches over and places her hand on top of Betty’s. “I’ve seen him. I’ve read his new pages. He pretends they are the beginnings of his second novel, but they are all just love letters to you.” 

Betty takes her hand from Cheryl and rubs her face. “Cheryl, do you think he’ll ever talk to me again?”

Cheryl’s smile is small, not the bright false one she has flashed so many times in the past. “His book is being released in five months,” she says, but it’s not an answer to Betty’s question. Cheryl finishes her coffee and grabs her bag to leave. “And cousin,” she pauses before she struts away, “I don’t know what you’re getting up to, but I know it’s not good. Make sure you don’t get yourself killed before you have a chance to at your happy ending.” 

. . .

Veronica forces her to go out for her birthday. Betty is turning 26 years old. She doesn’t want to go. All she wants to do is work on her investigation and write. She’s getting close. She has identified some key players in the sex trafficking ring after following their patterns for weeks. But, for some reason she hasn’t shared any of that information with her colleagues. Probably because she knows someone would try to stop her, and she _needs_ this right now.

She tries to remember what Cheryl cryptically implied to her. That just maybe, Jughead is working toward something. But their brief time together feels like a dream, no matter how much is has reignited her and changed the course of her life these last few months. 

She knows she begged him to come back to her. But he was able to ignore her for six years in prison. There is nothing to indicate he won’t continue to do the same. 

She can’t live for him. She can’t live like he’s going to come back to her. But she also can’t live like she was before. Like she wasn’t the girl willing to go to great lengths to get the truth, to solve the puzzle. 

Before she lived like he died and never tried to think of alternatives. But now, now that she’s investigating with the same gusto as she did at 16, she can’t help but think _what would my life be like if he never went to prison? What would we have accomplished together?_

But that thought ultimately breaks her heart more than she can stand. 

Despite her desire to investigate nonstop she gives into Veronica’s pestering. Ever since her visit with Cheryl she realized her friends are noticing how off she is, and she doesn't want them doing anything drastic. She has to pretend to be fine. She can’t let anything get in her way.

This deception also reminds her of high school. The facade she would put on while she dug her nails into her palms, or put on a black wig, or had conversations with killers. She could fool everyone. Well, everyone except him. But he’s not here right now to see through her. No one can stop her.

And buried in her heart, there is another reason she meets everyone at the bar that night. She can’t help hoping he’ll be there. It’s ridiculous. She doesn’t think he’d surprise her like that, but she’s exhausted and too tired to smash down hope. 

He’s not there. 

But Veronica, Archie, Toni, Cheryl, Kevin, Polly, even Adam is there. She gets a few drinks in her and Veronica tucks herself next to her all night. She is able to turn her brain off and laugh with her best friend who she hardly sees anymore. 

At the end of the night she walks back to her apartment between Archie and Veronica. Arm and arm with both of them. It feels so nice to be between them, cloaked in old familiar love. And maybe she should see them more. Maybe she can let them back into her heart without letting Jughead back in. 

Up in her apartment she snuggles into bed alone. It’s not quite midnight. Her friends are all adults with commitments in the morning. And they could tell Betty was not interested in a raucous celebration. 

She’s had some drinks on a half empty stomach. She’s laying on her back in her bed alone. She’s been in this position before, and it’s her birthday, doesn’t she deserve a treat? Even if ultimately it makes her a little sad, it feels so good in the moment and she’s just drunk enough that she can’t resist. 

Sometimes she relies on memories. Sometimes she makes up new scenarios in her head. Things they never got to try together, lingerie he never got to see her in, just places they have never been together. But tonight, all she can think about is laying on her back in that truck just surrendering to him. Her breath hitches as she runs her hands down her body. Before she can get to her growing need her phone buzzes. It startles her out of her daze so much she doesn’t think to ignore it. A text from an unknown number:

**Happy Birthday, Betty.**

She knows who this is without question. She watches the three little dots appear and disappear, like he has more to say but keeps thinking better of it and deleting. After two minutes of no dots and no new texts she hits the call button.

It rings for three rings and she holds her breath. Then

“Betty.”

“Hey, Jug,” she exhales and she knows his name comes out as a soft sigh. 

“Betty, I hope it’s okay I texted. I just,” she hears him take in a steading breath “I guess I couldn’t help myself. Sorry if I intruded.” 

“No, Jug, I’m happy to hear from you,” she clarifies. She closes her eyes and listens to him inhale and exhale. That sound alone is soothing. She realizes he doesn’t know what to say and he’s probably not tipsy. No liquid courage like she’s had tonight, and right now she has no filter. “Actually, I couldn’t help but hope I’d see you tonight.” Admitting that to him twists her stomach a bit. 

“I would never spring myself on you like that,” he says carefully. 

“I know, but, I couldn’t help it. It’s weird knowing you’re out in the world. Sometimes even when I leave my house it’s with a little bit of hope. Like, I’ll just turn a corner and run into you. Which is ridiculous, I know you’re in Riverdale.”

“I’m not in Riverdale anymore,” he admits. 

“Where are you?” She sits up in bed, intrigued. 

“I’m in Brooklyn, Carroll Gardens,” he says with hesitation in his voice.

“I’m in Greenpoint,” she says.

“I know.” Is his reply. She tries to figure out what this means, if anything. Is he trying to get closer to her? Is this about his literary career? Is he just starting over and this has nothing to do with her? She may have liquid courage running through her, but she’s not brave enough to ask those questions.

“Do you like it?” she asks lamely. He laughs at her question and the sound makes her feel like she’s floating. When she last saw him the most she could get out of him was one or two small smiles, and this is a _laugh_. She wishes she could see his face. 

“I was in prison for 6 years. Sleeping on the couch in F.P’s trailer the rest of my life would have been an improvement. Living here in my own apartment is better than anything I could have imagined.”

“How are you doing with everything?” she asks even though she’s not sure she wants the answer. 

“It’s hard. It’s hard and it’s scary. But everyone has been really great and there for me.” Jealousy washes over her at the thought of all the people allowed to see him in person.

“Why can’t I be one of those people that’s there for you?” She can’t keep the hurt out of her voice. She grips the phone thinking about him only a few subway stops away in Carroll Gardens. 

“Betty, I want you too much. I want you more than anything. But I can’t torture myself having you half in my life.” He sounds pained.

“I don’t want to be half either, Jug,” she replies frustrated and a little drunk. “What are you waiting for? Are you punishing yourself? Because it feels like you’re punishing me.” 

He doesn’t say anything for awhile and she wishes she could rewind time and say something to make him laugh again. She just wants to feel relaxed and light, if only for a few minutes. 

“Betty,” he whispers “Soon, okay?” And her heart soars. 

“Do you mean that?” she demands. 

“It’s the only thing I think about.” She can hear it was hard from him to admit that and he quickly segways the conversation away from their relationship on the precipice. “How’s your investigation going?” 

The normalcy of the question transports her and she breathlessly explains some of her recent findings to him. Sharing information with Jughead, getting his opinions and perspectives, it’s as natural as breathing to her. It’s what keeps her from suffocating. And his clever mind always pushes her to her next breakthrough. 

They go back and forth for awhile. His recent stint in prison has given him new knowledge about the criminal mind, how people hide things in plain sight. The stories and anecdotes he’s heard while behind bars fills in some of the gaps of her investigation. She furiously takes notes as he talks.

Falling into this rhythm with him makes her feel unspeakable good. His mind challenging hers. A little gentle teasing sneaks in. She never wants to hang up the phone. Any reservations she had about him, about the possibility of him being different, are washed away with every new theory he posits. They are in their element, working as a team, problem solving. 

They both feel the undercurrent of their conversation. How easily they still fit together. She thinks they are maybe both brimming with dangerous hope. 

She’s more sure now than when she saw him again. There is no one for her but him.

They talk late into the night and eventually a natural lull comes in their conversation. He pauses and asks:

“Are you being careful?”

“No,” she whispers. Because if she would have lied he would have known. The only person who always knows. 

“Betty.” She hears the edge in his voice. “Baby, we’re so close. Just please, take care of yourself.” 

She hears what he says, but what she really hears is _baby_ and the word lights up her body.

“I was thinking of you tonight. Just before you texted me,” she says carefully. “I was about to touch myself.” 

“Bett-”

“Call me baby again,” she rasps.

“ _Baby_ ,” his voice drops like a warning. 

“I want to touch myself now. Will you talk to me?” 

“Of course, baby.” He bites back a groan, “tell me what you need.” 

“What would you do to me if you were here?” she dares to ask as heat pools between her legs.

“Bury my head between your thighs and lick you,” he says without hesitation and she gasps, her hand flying down her body. “I didn’t get to taste you last time I saw you. I keep imagining it.” 

“I’m so wet,” she whimpers.

“Don’t put your fingers instead yourself yet. Run them along your wet slit and bring the slickness up to your clit and rub hard.” She does what he says as her breathing becomes more labored. “If I was there, first I’d just watch you. I wouldn’t rush like last time. Watch your perfect body grind against your hand. The subtle way your tits sway when you move. I’d watch you get yourself worked up just enough. Just enough that you drip, that your thighs glisten. Are you dripping now, baby?” 

“Yes,” she chokes out. 

“Good girl,” he praises. “Now, put your fingers inside your cunt and fuck yourself,” he commands. She gasps and pushes inside herself. She knows he can hear the wet sounds of her pulsing in and out. 

“Are you jerking off?” she asks.

“Do you want me to?” he asks hoarsely.

“Yes. I want to know you’re stroking your cock as I fuck myself. I want to know you’ll come listening to me,” she manages to say as the coil in her belly tightens. 

“Fuck, baby. If I was there I’d suck on your clit. Scissors my fingers in and out of you. Lap up every drop that came from your pussy.”

“Yes, yes,” she chants getting closer, moving her hand faster and harder. 

“I’d want you to grab my hair. Lock your thighs around my head, pull me closer and deeper. I’d want you to ride my face. Grind all over me. I want to drown in you.” 

“Juggie, I’m going to come” she whimpers. 

“Me too, baby. Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.” And she does, her hips lift off the bed and pushes her fingers as deep as they’ll go. She falls over the edge and whines high and needy. She can hear him groan with his release. 

As she’s coming down he has one last command for her. “Take your fingers out of your pussy, suck them clean. Taste yourself for me. Taste yourself because I can’t.” She shoves her fingers so far down her throat she nearly gags. She wraps her mouth around her fingers and pulls them out so a pop echos into the phone. 

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, “You’re so good. God, I miss you so much, Betty.” The switch from baby to Betty cuts through her. 

“I miss you too, Jug.” She’s exhausted and spent. “I’m lonely without you. I’ve been so lonely.” She doesn’t mean just the last few months and she thinks he knows that. 

“Soon. I swear, soon,” he promises again. 

“Will you stay on the phone as I fall asleep?” She can’t bring herself to hang up on him.

“Yes,” he sounds grateful for the request.

“Will you read to me as I fall asleep? Will you read me some of your book?” she asks. 

He takes in a shaky and hesitant breath “Okay.” She hears him shuffle around. She gets under her covers, curls up, and closes her eyes. She feels her whole body relax as his words wash over her.

_Jason Blossom was murdered, but that’s not the story. Any story I have to tell begins and ends with her_...

 

. . .

She tries to be careful. But after their phone call weeks pass, then months, and she slips into bad habits. She can’t blame him, she doesn’t contact him either. She tries to understand he’s just not ready yet, but then he would have to understand she can’t wait around idly. 

And not only that, since her conversation with Jughead, she’s had breaks in the case. Everything is connecting, her mind travels at the speed of light as the puzzle unravels before her. 

Most of her story is written when she goes out that night to follow up with sources. But when she gets to her spot, Sasha is nowhere to be seen. Sasha is young, she hasn’t revealed how young but Betty has her suspicions. She asks some of the other girls and they confirm the worst, Sasha has been missing for days. And Betty knows. She knows the patterns, she knows the men who are more than just clients, she’s been researching this nonstop for almost eight months. 

It’s not her place, she knows she can’t stage a rescue. But maybe she can get close, get truly incriminating pictures that she could print and it would launch an investigation. 

She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t. But she’s Betty Cooper, she can’t help herself. And she’s Jughead Jonesless, there is nothing stopping her. 

She’s in her skimpy clothes to fit in on the corner. She should go home and change to something more conspicuous, grab her good camera, do this properly. But Sasha’s been missing for three days and time is ticking away. 

She doesn’t need to consult her notes, she knows where to go. Her story is almost complete. But _pictures_ , pictures can make all the difference. She takes an uber to the edge of the city where gentrification is just creeping in. Hiding in plain sight, just like Jughead said. Not some abandoned warehouse, but a building not too run down that people are suspicious, but just rough enough that everyone minds their own business. 

She has the car drop her off two blocks from her destination. She walks up to the nondescript building. She climbs up the fire escape trying windows. On the first and second floor they are all boarded shut. Up on the third floor she gets one open. As if possessed she slides in. 

She creeps around. The house is quiet on the third floor, but she can hear sounds coming from below her. She carefully opens doors and photographs everything. The locks on the outside of doors made to keep people trapped inside, the dirty mattresses on the floor, the suspicious stains that look like blood. All these things add up to people being held against their will. 

She uploads her photos to the cloud, she has enough, for now. She walks quietly to the bedroom with the open window but her luck runs out. A man’s coming up the stairs. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he yells and comes charging after her. She runs into the bedroom and slams the door, the flimsy door knob lock is not going to hold. She bolts out the window onto the fire escape, but the man has yelled for back up and below her are just more men. She looks up, the fire escape doesn’t go all the way to the roof.

She’s trapped. Fuck. 

Hands shaking, she texts **Help. Blue Folder**. She tries to drop a pin of her location but the door to the bedroom flys open. The location won’t load. Her phone is full of evidence and clues to her identity. The text is through. God, she hope’s that’s enough. 

She drops her phone over the edge of the fire escape and watches it shatter as she’s pulled back through the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, next week is the last chapter!!!! Let me know what you think!


	5. Reunited (at last)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty is missing. 
> 
> (two people find their way back to each other)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been so welcoming and supportive. All your responses have meant a lot to me. 
> 
> Still no beta, sorry for the errors!

**Help. Blue Folder.**

He calls. It goes straight to voicemail. He texts. They come back marked red _can’t deliver_. His mind works fast. He knows she’s working on a dangerous investigation. 

_Are you being careful?_

_No._

Veronica has a key to Betty’s place, her and Archie meet him there. It takes them 13 minutes longer to arrive than he does and the whole time he wants to punch through walls and just get into her apartment. 

His mind is overloaded. The first time in her apartment, but without her. This isn’t the time to focus on the scents, the softness, the decor. That being inside Betty’s apartment is kin to being inside Betty. 

His mind is flying. Nothing is disturbed. Whatever happened to her didn’t happen in her apartment. He scans the room. She has a whole investigation board. Veronica is hyperventilating.

“We need to call the police, Jughead. If this is as serious as you think, we need to call them right now.” The brunette paces around the apartment gesturing to the investigation board with the red strings and photos and notes. “I don’t know what any of this means!” She cries frustrated.

“I do,” Jughead says as he digs through her desk. _Blue folder_ he thinks, _blue folder_. 

“Jughead, Ronnie’s right. We need professional help. We need -” 

“No!” Jughead slams his hand down on the desk. “The cops will get here, they will interview us. An ex con boyfriend? They’ll detain me for questioning. They’ll move all her shit around. They won’t be able to follow her trail. I know her. I know how her mind works. I can figure this out. Once I know where she is, call the cops. But I need to solve this before they can fuck everything up.” 

Archie and Veronica have their mouths shut tight with worry. They stand around scared and useless as Jughead pours through her files. 

“Okay, okay,” he repeats with shaking hands. “All information in the blue folder is about this building.” He points to a spot on the whiteboard. “So, if she’s anywhere, she’s there. Or at least she was,” he glances at his phone, “two hours and 43 minutes ago.” _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He can’t waste anymore time. “Veronica, call Tom Keller. Tell him Betty is missing, possibly being held by sex traffickers at this location,” he points to the spot on the board.

“Keller is all the way in Riverdale!” Veronica protests.

“You can’t just trust any cop, Veronica! The police protect their interests, not people. You need to get in touch with Keller, he can put you in touch with people he trusts,” Jughead insists. 

“Jughead, no.” This time Archie interjects. “Dude, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I’m saying it’s Betty and we don’t have time for this. You don’t know what you’re getting into. You can’t go in there alone while we vet cops we can trust for who knows how long.” 

“Fuck it, fine,” Jughead feels the seconds trudging by, he doesn't have time to argue with them. “I’m going now.” Jughead storms out of the apartment. 

He puts on his helmet and jumps on his motorcycle. It’s hard to concentrate. All he hears is the blood pounding in his ears, all he sees is red. 

His book is coming out in four weeks. He was going to invite her to the release party. He should have sent the invitation weeks ago, but he was being a coward. He’s sick now, thinking about how he wanted it to be perfect for her. A fresh start where he could present himself to her as a man. A man who had accomplished something. A man who was healthier and better than the fucking wreck she picked up from prison. 

It’s not like he thought they would fall into each other's arms and the credits would roll. But he would have been in a suit, she would have been in a nice dress. It would have been a party to celebrate his accomplishment. And just maybe, he would have felt worthy enough to pursue her again, after everything. Besides, she’s been clear that she wants _something_ and he’s always wanted _everything_ when it came to her. 

The serene fantasy disintegrates as he drives faster.

It was hard to resist her those first few months out. Betty hit the nail on the head when she said it was hard, just knowing the other was out there in the world, walking around. But everytime he wanted to give in to temptation and call her, or show up, or throw himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness, he thought about his hands around her neck. This was something he couldn't rush. He couldn’t risk fucking it up for good, and having it be really and truly over. 

So he did everything right. He went to therapy. He worked on his book. He stayed away from drugs and alcohol. He stayed away from his old Serpent friends. That last part was harder than he would have thought, so he moved out of Riverdale. Told himself he moved to New York because he was a real writer now, and Archie, Veronica, Toni, and Cheryl were all there. But of course he nurtured hope. The hope he had buried the whole six years he was prison blossomed and sung to him as he walked around New York those first few weeks. 

After they talked on her birthday he almost showed up with flowers the next morning. But he couldn‘t rush, couldn’t rush. So he went to yoga with Veronica which is still almost unbelievable to him. That he meditates with Veronica Lodge. 

But now he’s rushing. Rushing on his bike to the address where she texted **Help** from. And the crushing feeling of every decision he’s ever made being the wrong one practically kills him. Has it ever been the right choice to stay away from her? Everything is clouded now. If she’s hurt, or worse, if this is the end, if he really fucked it up this bad; he might as well kill everyone in that building and get the death penalty because that’s it for him.

When he gets there cops are already swarming the place and he wants to murder Veronica. She must have pulled some Lodge strings for this to happen this fast. And he’s scared, so deeply scared, way more scared than when he was sentenced to jail. He was terrified that day but relieved because he was keeping her out of jail. He has always loved her more than he loves himself. 

Now there are cops everywhere and he’s so terrified that the people inside the building will retaliate, that the cops aren’t handling themselves delicately enough, that they are putting her in more danger. Panic takes over and he sits on the curb and puts his head between his legs. 

All he can do is wait. 

. . .

After Betty gets yanked forcefully back in the room the man throws her against the wall.

“Who the fuck are you?” he growls.

“Betty,” she answers honestly. Her shoulder is jammed from hitting the wall and her leg is banged up from getting drug through the window. Blood drips down her thigh, but the cut isn't deep. It could be worse.

“And what the fuck do you want, Betty?” He has his hand raised to smack her, to keep her intimidated. She knows how men like this work. She scrambles to get mentally on top of the situation. But she takes too long to answer. He takes her head and slams it against the wall. Her vision blurs. “Answer, bitch!”

“I’m looking for Sasha!” she cries. The truth, it’s the truth, and also the least incriminating. 

“What makes you think she’s here?”

“I heard she might have gone here with a client. No ones heard from her. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“A client? You bitches aren’t investment bankers, you fuck for money. I don’t know shit about Sasha, but I want to know shit about you.” She feels relief and dread. Relief because it’s best case scenario he thinks she’s a sex worker, versus a reporter. He feels like he has power over her. And looking for a friend isn’t a huge threat to him. But his voice is menacing as he drags her out of the room with the open window and tosses her in the one next to it. “You stay here bitch until I figure out what to do with you. I don’t have time for this shit today, so if you make any fucking noise, I’m going send someone up here who won’t be so nice to you.” With that he slams the door and locks her inside. 

Her head throbs, her leg bleeds, her shoulder aches as she tries to get her shaking hands under control. She’s got to get out of here before someone comes to beat her, or rape her, or worse. She knows how this organization operates, and she hopes against hope her little break and entry is a low priority today. 

She needs a moment to collect herself. She might have a concussion. Her mind isn’t as sharp as it usually is. 

She thinks about the text she sent, _find me Jug_ , her mind pleads. But she pushes that thought away. She needs to save herself. 

She tries the window, it won’t budge. The room doesn’t have anything to pry it open. She wonders if she could break the window herself, but she knows that would draw attention so she’ll save that for a last resort. 

_The ceiling_ , she looks up. An old shotty building like this, drop tile ceiling. Her breathing picks up, it’s her only hope. She stands on a half broken chair and pushes the tile aside. There is about a foot and a half of space up there, but the tiles are flimsy, they won’t support her weight if she were to crawl up there. She clutches the sides of her head. _Think think think._

She moves the chair around and looks above more ceiling tiles. She gets inside the closet, above those tiles are some pipes. Bingo. They look sturdy enough to support her weight, with enough space for her to crawl on top of them so she won’t have to just hang there in her injured state. 

She puts the chair back where she found it so as not to tip anyone off. She has to use the clothing railing to hoist herself up and then grab onto the pipes like a pullup. It’s difficult with her shoulder but she manages, thanking god for all that pilates with Cheryl. She swings her good leg up and curls herself around the pipe. Once she’s up there she reaches down and puts the tile back in place. 

She holds onto the pipe and waits. 

. . .

She estimates it’s been maybe two, two and half hours. She’s aching and scared, but no one has come to check on her yet so there is that. She’s hiding, but this plan doesn’t have a lot of legs. She’s getting dizzy with her possible concussion, or maybe just fear, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold on. 

She closes her eyes and tries not to think about Jughead. 

Suddenly the house vibrates with commotion. She clings to the pipe tighter. She hears yelling and threats and she can’t imagine what’s going on. Then the thudding sound of heavy footsteps echo everywhere. She hears the door to the room where she’s being kept break open. They stomp around for a minute or two and open the closet, she can tell by the way the light filters through the tiles

“This room’s clear!” Someone declares. Are those cops? She can’t be sure and she can’t risk it. She stays where she is. She can hear the floor she’s on being called as clear and the thudding footsteps descend down the stairs. She knows the door to her room is broken open. This is her chance. 

She slides off the pipe and ends up half crashing through the tiles. She holds her breath, scared someone heard her fall and is coming for her. When her floor stays quiet, she moves as quickly as she can to the room with the open window and fire escape. 

She goes out the window and makes her way down the fire escape. She practically has to crawl, her head is spinning, her leg is bleeding, she can’t hold onto the railing using the arm attached to her injured shoulder. 

As she makes her way down she hears a familiar voice calling out in anger. It floats into her brain and for a moment she thinks she’s hallucinating. 

“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK,” Jughead howls. She can see him, standing in the entrance to the ally yelling at Archie and Veronica. “Let me think!” He clutches his hair like he’s about to pull it out. “They could have taken her to a second location. If they knew she was a journalist, they might have wanted to get her away from here. We need to go back to her apartment and -” 

“Jughead!” she calls and he looks around wildly. “Jug!” she calls again. 

He spots her. Their eyes meet and time stops. 

. . .

Jughead watches the women, girls, and various men being led out of the building. His heart is in his throat and he feels like he’s going to vomit. Not her, not her, none of them are her. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Lodge,” a man comes to speak to Veronica. “The building is empty. There is no sign of Elizabeth Cooper. None of the women saw her and none of the men are talking.” 

Jughead’s instinct is to break through the crowd and beat information out of the men being loaded into police cruisers. No amount of therapy will be able to quell the rage he feels when Betty is in danger. Archie holds him back “Jug, Jughead - we need to be smart.” 

He storms away and walks to the edge of the building, Archie and Veronica follow closely behind. 

“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK,” he screams into his hands. 

“Jughead, what should we do? What should we do next?” Veronica is pleading and panicking. 

“Let me think!” he yells at her. His mind races. “They could have taken her to a second location. If they knew she was a journalist, they might have wanted to get her away from here. We need to go back to her apartment and -” and through the horrifying reality playing out before him he hears her voice. 

“Jughead! Jug!” He sees her, on the fire escape. For the briefest moment all air leaves his lungs and he can’t move. But then he’s off, toward her, thundering up the wrought iron stairs. 

He’s almost to her and he watches her slump with relief. His heart burns, watching her give up some the tension of whatever she went through, ever so slightly, because he’s here now. 

He reaches her and gathers her up in his arms. Her breath catches in pain and he loosens his hold on her. He pulls away to take her in. He can see she’s injured, but he’s so scared about what could have happened that he can’t see. _Sex traffickers_. His heart shudders. 

“Are you okay?” He gulps and asks. She miraculously smiles at him. 

“Jug, you found me.” She strokes his face. 

“Baby, I will always find you,” he promises. His heart clenches as he takes in her injuries. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

“What you see is what you get,” she motions over her body. Relief floods him because he understands what she’s implying, she may be banged up, but she wasn’t violated. 

“Oh my god, Betty!” Veronica cries as her and Archie reach the bottom of the fire escape.

“Hey,” Betty muses as she looks down to her friends and leans her head on Jughead’s shoulder. “Gangs all here.” It strikes the four of them this is the first time they have been in the same place in almost seven years. And in that moment, despite everything, their little group can’t help but smile. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” Jughead says and Betty gratefully nods. She takes a step onto her injured leg and winces. Jughead picks her up and carries her down the fire escape. 

The four of them sneak away from the police and into Veronica's black SUV. 

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Archie asks. 

“No,” Betty shakes her head, “Just take me home.” 

Archie opens the back door and Jughead climbs into the SUV with Betty still in his arms. He sits and cradles her on his lap. She doesn’t move away. 

The drive to Betty’s is quiet. Although she’s the one who just escaped sex traffickers it’s Jughead who can’t stop trembling as he holds her. 

Her face is buried in his neck, her lips right by his ear. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “I’m safe.” Jughead brings his hand up to massage the back of her neck but doesn’t say anything. 

When they arrive at Betty’s, Veronica tries to mother hen her way up. Betty politely but firmly refuses. Jughead doesn’t give her the opportunity to turn him away as he lifts her out of the SUV and carries her to her apartment. He’s surprised his independent blonde doesn’t resist. 

When they get inside he carefully places her on the couch.

He cleans up her leg and gets her some ice for her shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to get any of that checked out?” he asks.

“No,” she says. “At least, not tonight.” He takes a seat opposite her, the coffee table between them, and they stare at each other. The more he takes in her battered appearance the more his fists clench. 

“Are you angry?” Betty asks. 

“Yes,” he answers. 

“At me?” she asks.

“I’m glad you're safe.”

“That’s not what I asked you.” Betty challenges with a slight tilt up of her chin. “Are you mad at me?” 

“Yes,” he answers honestly. “You should have never put yourself in that position.” 

“You don’t get to have a say in my life anymore,” she retorts and he know it’s true. But that doesn’t change the instincts he’ll always have about her, it would be like altering his basic chemistry. 

“You don’t have a say,” she says quieter. “But I wish you did.” His throat closes up as she continues talking. “Jughead, I can’t do this without you,” she motions around her, to her apartment, her messy desk, her investigation board. “All this is who I am. Who I need to be. But without you, it all just runs wild. All that darkness I’ve always had inside me, it’s morphed into something else, something reckless, and I can’t stop myself. It’s like there’s no wall, no boundaries…” she trails off exhausted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t put this on you. You’re still trying to get your life together.” 

“I’m trying to get my life together for you,” he asserts and her eyes shoot up to meet his. “It’s all I’ve been doing. But maybe I’ve been doing it wrong. Why the fuck am I wasting time and my life staying away from you?” 

“Six and a half years,” tears well up in her eyes. “We lost over six and a half years.” He hangs his head in shame. “But it’s not your fault,” she continues. “We were put in an impossible situation. There is no road map for what we’ve been through. I don’t think you made the wrong choice or the right choice. There was no right or wrong, just injustice and pain. Our lives have been unbelievable unfair.” She wipes a stray tear away. 

Jughead gets up and walks around the coffee table to take a seat facing her on the couch. He tentatively takes her hand. She immediately threads her fingers through his and squeezes. Their simple connection is electric. 

“I’m sorry I stayed away so long,” he says as he runs his thumb over her knuckles. “After that morning, after what I did,” he chokes. “I couldn’t face you. I was broken.”

“I understand. I should never have ambushed you like that. I just let all these emotions take over. I was out of control,” she says as she rubs her face with the hand not holding his.

“I’m glad you did. I’m glad yours was the first face that I saw. I’m glad you didn’t listen to me about not waiting.” His speech is fractured. He brings her hand to his lips. His kisses the palm and places it against his cheek and sighs. 

He looks to her. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks are flushed and her lips are parted. She inches closer to him, moves her hand so both are on his cheeks now, cupping his face. 

“I never stopped loved you, Jug. I’m not sure I can.” His heart overflows and he leans over to rest his forehead against hers. He reaches up to touch her face, mirror what she’s doing to him. He could live in this moment forever. The divine serenity of being close to Betty Cooper. But her inhale comes raspy, he feels the tremor in her hands against his face. He feels the build up between him and the only person he’ll ever love. 

First, he just brushes his lips against hers. She gasps and her hands make there way behind his neck, her fingers threading into his hair. Her shoulders rise and fall with anticipation. 

“I love you, Betty Cooper,” he says into her mouth. 

“Jughead Jones -” he captures her lips before she can finish. The satisfied noise she makes as she crawls onto his lap practically ends him. As desperate as they are for each other he holds the back of her head in his hand forcing her to slow down, the kiss stays tender even as he feels her becoming restless. 

He leans forward and lays her down on her back on the couch cushions. His lips never leave hers as they explore each others mouths again. Her lips are as plump and soft as ever. He presses down on top of her. Her hips rock against his and their kissing quickly becomes more frenzied, their teeth knocking together. 

They grind into each other and Jughead tears his mouth from hers to taste her skin. This is the first time his lips have been on her in years and he wants his tongue to memorize every part of her. 

He kisses along her jawline up to her ear. “Talk to me, baby,” he whispers hotly to her. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.” A moan tears through Betty and her hips pick up speed. He pushes down against her to stop her movements and she whines. “Use your words, baby. I’ve missed the way you used to talk to me,” he confesses. 

“I want you to fuck me,” she groans. 

“We’ll get there, I promise. But we rushed last time. Let me take my time with you. Tell me how you want me to start.” 

“I want to suck you off.” Her answer goes right to his cock.

“I think that might speed things up too much for me,” he admits. He’s so turned on, he needs to concentrate on her to make this last.

“I want to swallow your cum,” she challenges as she bites his lower lip. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. Betty slides out from under him until she’s on her knees in front of the couch. Jughead sits up mesmerized. 

“I’m going to suck your cock and swallow your cum. Then I’m going to get you hard again so you can fuck me all night.” Betty promises as she undoes his jeans. She’s a vision, better than anything he could conjure up on a lonely night. He never realized his memory and imagination were so subpar until this moment. 

She takes him out and he’s so hard he can barely stand it. She moans low in her throat, reaches out to hold his dick steady and starts with just the tip. He throws his head back for a moment and closes his eyes. She takes it slow at first with a few licks, but soon he’s all the way in her mouth as she sucks hard and moves her hand in unison with her mouth. He tries to keep his hips from bucking himself further down her throat but he has little self control. 

Betty backs off slightly and continues to work him with her hand. She looks up at him through hooded eyelids. Her lips are swollen and her hair is tousled and he doesn’t know much longer he can last. She opens her mouth to speak.

“Do it, Jug. Face fuck me. I trust you,” she says hoarsely as she takes him back in her mouth. He groans as he holds the sides of her head and moves her back and forth on his dick. She makes a satisfied noise that vibrates him and he moves her head a little faster, pushing himself into her so she almost chokes on him but not quite. 

He watches her move her hands off him and and down between her legs. 

“Yes, that’s right, baby. Touch yourself as you gag on my cock.” Betty whimpers and he watches her hands move quickly between her legs as she bounces up and down slightly. It’s too much for him, he’s coming undone. 

“Betty, I’m about to come. Are you going to be a good girl and swallow it all?” She gives her answer in the form of her pushing her head forward to take him as far into her mouth as she can.

“Oh yes, baby. That’s so good, Jesus.” Jughead sutters as his cock pulses and shoots streams of cum into her mouth. He watches her throat work and he can’t believe how satisfied he feels. She’s finished with him, but he sees her hand is still moving frantically. 

“Do you need to come, Betts?” he asks her. He watches his dick leave her mouth with a pop as she whimpers and grinds against her hand.

“Yes, please help me,” she pleads. 

“Come on.” He pulls his boxers up and hauls her off the floor. “Show me your bedroom,” he commands in her ear. 

Betty walks in front with one hand still in her panties working her clit. Jughead follows behind gripping her hips. When they are almost to the bedroom she falters and places a hand on the wall for balance. She looks up at Jughead with begging eyes. 

“Pleas-” but she doesn’t finish as Jughead turns her toward the wall, facing away from him. He guides her hand out of her panties and placing both her hands on the wall in front of her. 

He presses himself behind her and replaces her hand with his. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you want you need.” Betty sighs in relief as Jughead pushes two fingers into her, working her fast and hard. She has her forehead resting against the wall. Her hips bounce in time with his hand, meeting his thrusts so his fingers fuck her harder. Her whines are getting higher and breathier.

“Good work, you’re almost there. Don’t slow down. You know how much I love it when you come on my hand.” He presses himself harder into the crevasse of her ass and he can feel the beginnings of a new erection. “Do you feel that? You’re making me hard. Come on baby, finish on my hand.” His words seem to undo her. He picks up the pace ever so slightly. He feels her inner walls tighten around his fingers and then more wetness seeps out of her. He works her through it while whispering praises into the shell of her ear. 

He takes his fingers out of her and turns her around so she can watch him suck her essense off his fingers. 

Her gaze is heated. “I love you,” she says as his fingers leave his mouth. She leans up and kisses him. Her lips are swollen from the blow job so he kisses her as tenderly as he can. 

They are temporarily sated. Jughead kisses her slowly with all the feeling he suppressed the last six and a half years. She leans back against the wall and he crowds into her, there is no space between their bodies. In no time their kissing picks up and she’s writhing against him. He leans back to tear off her top and she unhooks her bra while kicking off her skirt which had been bunched up around her hips. He sheds his shirt and they are left only in their underwear. He leans down to kiss her and grab the back of her thighs. She gives a little jump and her legs are wrapped around his waist. He carries her into her bedroom and throws her down onto her bed. 

He reaches down to brush her hair away from her face. When their eyes meet, a lump forms in his throat. Betty Cooper, almost naked before him, looking at him with lust and love. He closes his eyes and tries to swallow his feelings. The last thing he needs is to break down in front of her again. 

But it’s Betty, she can read the change in his demeanor. She sits up and reaches over to cup his face. “Jug,” she says softly as she runs her fingers over his cheekbones. “We’re together.” He crawls on top of her as she lays back down. He presses his face into her neck and just breathes to steady himself. 

She runs her hands over the lines of his back as he wills himself _don’t cry dont cry don’t cry._

As he gets himself under control, Betty rolls them so they face each other on their sides. He knows his expression is glassy while hers is pure love. 

“How can you forgive me?” He whispers to her. “For abandoning you?” Her expression shifts but her eyes don’t leave his face. 

“We had to make choices no person, let alone teenagers, should have to make. You leaving broke me, but I know it broke you too. I understand you were trying to protect me and yourself.” Her hands trace the new tattoos of his body, her fingers trailing over his chest and abdomen. “And if I stay angry at you forever, that means we lose everything. If we can forgive each other, we have hope at a future together. I’ve already been without you, I’d rather work toward being with you.” 

Jughead pulls her closer and kisses her. A tear escapes him as he feels overwhelming gratitude at this second chance. He is full of words yet speechless. He looks at her and he knows his love for her would fill an infinite number of books. But right now all he can manage is _Thank you_.

Her fingers continue there gentle exploration of his body. The body she knew so well as a teenager but she has to grow accustomed to as an adult. 

“Tell me about this tattoo,” she says, her palm covering the crown on the left side of his chest, the little B decorating it’s point. His heart races with her ring finger so close to her initial. 

“I wanted something just for me. It was easy to explain away the crown. I was the Serpent King after all. No one in prison knew about the paper crowns we’d wear as kids, or my beanie Archie’s mom knitted me. When I’d see this tattoo, for a second it would be like I was looking at the side of the Twilight Drive In where I spray painted my tag. And for that second, I would be picturing something other than prison.” 

Betty leans over and presses a kiss to his tattoo. Jughead strokes her hair. “I don’t even know what happened to that hat. I thought I left it in the trailer, but I looked for it and it’s gone. Just another thing I lost I guess,” he says mournfully. 

Betty lifts her head. She has her tongue between her teeth looking guilty. She stretches away from him and opens her bedside drawer. She takes out his grey crown beanie. 

“I stole it,” she confesses. “I stole it on J.B.’s birthday. I’ve felt terrible about it. I knew it belong with your family, with Jelly, but I just wanted to have something of you. There is nothing more intimately you then this,” she says getting choked up. 

“J.B’s birthday, the day I hung up on you?” he clarifies, though it hurts.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “I was terrible that day. I was raw and desperate. I grabbed a phone out of your little sister’s hands. Your dad sat me down and he was patient with me, but he was firm. And I guess it finally hit me that it was over between us.” He can see she’s holding back tears and shame radiates through him for everything he put her through. “I knew I had to stop writing you. That I had to leave you alone. But, if it was all over I just wanted one thing I could hold on to forever. So I grabbed this.” 

She’s still clutching the beanie in her hands. Jughead gently takes it from her. He holds the precious relic from his past. Instead of putting it on his own head, he reaches over and places it on hers. “It was as much yours as mine,” he says. Betty squeezes her eyes shut and two tears slide out. He gathers her up in his arms and rolls on his back. She’s half on him and half sprawled on the bed. Now he gently runs his hands up and down her back while she tries not to cry. 

“I understand needing something. It’s why the B is in the point of the crown,” he tells her as her finger slides up to touch it. “I put the B there after you stopped writing me. After it felt like you were gone forever. It did it myself.” With a contraband needle and ink from the same pen he used to write his book which is all about her. But he doesn’t tell her that part. “So even if I never saw you again, I was marked forever by you.” 

Betty lifts her head and looks at him, her eyelashes wet from her tears. “Jug, is it over now?” she asks. “Can we be together again?” Jughead flashes back to just hours before, riding his motorcycle terrified out of mind he wouldn’t get to her in time. 

“Yes, God. I just want to be with you again. Are you really taking me back?” He asks incredulously. Betty’s face is a beaming smile. He loves her so much. 

“I’m ready for us to be a team again. Partners in life.” _Partners in life_ is just as good as her telling him she loves him. 

They are kissing again. She’s crawled on top of him and rubs herself against him. All his blood flows south and he’s hard against her. Only their underwear separates them. She’s grinding furiously and he has his hands on her hips to help her press harder. He slips his hand down and he can feel she’s soaked through her underwear. 

Her hands chase his down below their waists and she tries to reach into his boxers, but he pulls her away and she gasps in protest. 

“Let me touch you,” she begs. But he continues to lift her, moving her completely off of him and pulling her up. 

“You’ve touched enough. I want you to sit on my face and ride me. I feel how wet you are, I want all that dripping onto me.” He continues to pull her toward him as he grabs her underwear to get them off of her, but he can feel her body pausing. A flush creeps from the top of her breasts all the way to her cheeks. 

“What? Are you okay?” he asks, trying to be sensitive. But her dripping pussy is so close and he just wants to devore it. 

“I’ve never done that before,” she says shyly. This surprises him. He knows _they_ have never done this before. Sure he has gone down on her many times, but never like this. But it’s been years, and she was adventurous and insatiable when they were teens. 

“Really?” is all he can say. 

“No,” she continues. “I mean, I’ve been with other people,” and she stops for a moment worrying she’s said too much. “But, it was never like it was between us. I never felt _that_ way.” A montage of them tumbling around and always desperate for each other flashes before his eyes. He doesn’t know how to feel to know she never found that with anyone else while they were apart. But maybe he’s not really that surprised. He could never fathom burning for anyone the way he burns for Betty. 

Above him she still looks nervous, but Jughead gives her a small smirk. 

“Well, good thing we’re back together then.” He’s broken out into a full on grin and Betty’s eyes sparkle back at him. 

“Now get on my face. I told you I wanted to drown in you,” he says pulling her toward him until Betty is hovering over him. 

She lowers herself down and Jughead is _surrounded_ by her. He immediately works her with his tongue, alternating between sucking on her clit and licking her hard to create friction. He hears her breathy moans, but she seems a little timid, just rocking slightly at first. He grabs her hips to encourage her, moving her back and forth more roughly over his mouth. Soon she’s panting and grinding against him all on her own. 

Jughead is in heaven, her arousal is all over his face. He’s able to add fingers to his work against her and he can hear how fantic is above him. 

“Juggie,” she cries out as she increases the pace of her hips. “I’m going to come all over your face. Only you can make me come like this. I’m only a good girl for you. I’m your best girl,” she pants out as she starts to lose her rhythm. Jughead licks hard from her wet opening to her clit and sucks. He feels her inner walls tighten against his fingers, she moans and comes hard. 

She moves a few more times and he can feel her pulsing orgasm subsiding. She slides down his body and he rolls them over so he’s on top of her. He kisses her deeply without wiping his mouth. He knows she can taste herself, and the way she moves below him, he knows she likes it. 

“That was so sexy, baby,” he whispers to her. “I love when you take what you want. I love when you come.” He praises as he nuzzles his nose along the side of her jaw. 

She nudges his face up so they can look at each other. “What I want now,” she says mischievously, “is for you to fuck me.” 

She helps him shed his boxers. He moves against her center without going inside her. His cock rubs roughly from her dripping opening up to her clit. She breathes harshly as he torments her. She looks into his eyes and pleads without words. 

Jughead leans down so their noses are almost touches. “Beg.” He orders. 

“Please fuck me,” she immediately pleads. “I’m so wet. You’ll slide right in. It will be so good.” 

“Can you come like this? Just from me rubbing against you?” he asks with a wicked expression.

“I don-” she tries to say and he cuts her off. 

“I think you can. I think you can come just from my cock moving against your wet slit,” he says and licks the shell of her ear. “Come like this and I’ll fuck you,” he promises. 

Betty closes her eyes and concentrates on the sensation of him moving against her. It feels so good but she wants more. Jughead moves his mouth down and kisses the top of her breasts. Soon his hands are squeezing her until it almost hurts in that way that pushes her closer to coming. 

“Goddamnit, I missed your perfect tits,” he muses as he keeps squeezing. “Maybe next time I’ll slide my cock between them and come all over your pretty face.” Betty inhales sharply and bucks her hips up just as his cock grinds against her clit. 

“Keep talking,” she breathes. 

“There are so many things I missed about you, Betty. I missed bending you over the desk in the Blue and Gold. Lifting your nice girl skirt and hitting your ass, leaving my red hand prints all over you. I loved hitting you and putting my hand between your legs and find you soaking. You get so wet from having your ass smacked. My perfect northside princess and serpent slut all at the same time.” 

Betty arches her body up and rubs herself furiously against him. She threads her hands through his hair and pulls. 

“Jughead,” she pants “I-” but she can’t finish her sentence and he know she’s coming by the way her breath hitches and her eyes squeeze shut. 

When he can tell she’s peaking, he adjusts himself and slides into her. She’s so wet she stretches easily for him just like she predicated she would. As she feels him enter her, her eyes fly open and she gasps deeply. Her hips immediately meet his thrusts as she chants _yes yes yes_ as he fucks her through the end of her orgasm. 

“Baby, your pussy is so hot. And wet. And tight.” He punciates each praise with a thrust of his hips. She just came but he can tell by the way her inner walls grip his cock that she’s working on another orgasm. He hooks his arms under her shoulders and hovers over her as he fucks her. As they move he can feel her nipples brushing against his chest. 

Betty wraps her legs around him and her heels dig into his back. She braces his face with her hands and pulls him down to meet her lips. They kiss aggressively as Jughead slides in and out of her. 

Jughead idly considers switching positions. He wants to give her everything. But missionary keeps her close to him and in this moment he wants as much of their skin touching as possible. He can’t tear himself away from her. 

“Make me come again, Juggie,” Betty urges. “Make me come so I can grip your cock with my pussy. I want you to feel what you do to me.” Everything in his body tightens with her filthy request. 

He moves so her hips tilt slightly up. He reaches down between them and alternates, rubbing, pinching, and tugging on her clit. She’s gasping and can’t match his rhythm anymore so he holds her still and pounds into her. 

She’s practically wailing and she covers her mouth with her hand. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jughead reprimands. “I want to hear you. I want to hear you and feel you when you come. My perfect girl with the perfect little pussy.” 

That’s it for her. She cries out, coming around his cock, squeezing him and bringing him to his finish. 

It’s sloppy at the end, as they come at the same time, desperate and grinding into each other. They kiss, their teeth knock together. They are pressed hard against each other and this might be the most intense moment of their lives. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” he chants as they both come down. He’s kissing her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her forehead, her lips again. 

“You’re staying, right? You’re not going to leave?” She asks over his _I love yous_. Her vulnerability rising to the surface as she comes down from her high. She runs her hands through his hair, over his shoulders, down his back, taking in all his smooth skin, seeking reassure he’s here with her.

“I’m not going anywhere. Please let me stay, don’t make me leave.” He buries his face in her neck. They are both asking each other the same thing, their insecurities match. 

He rolls off of her, their legs stay tangled, he keeps his fingers threaded through her hair. Just like before, the feeling of coming with her and the afterglow threatens to pull him under. He’s been going to therapy, he’s been getting better, but feeling this complete still terrifies him. How can he allow himself to give in to this happiness? 

But the answer to his question lies in the expression on her face. It’s her open adoration. After everything they have been through, after everything _he_ put them through. He will work past every insecurity, all his feelings of worthlessness, he will work for her, for the expression she wears on her face. He will never stop trying to make her wear that look everyday for the rest of his life. This is his path in life and he’s so goddamn lucky. 

“Thank you,” he whispers to her.

“For what? The sex?” she says cheekily. 

“For being exactly the person you are. For never giving up on me. On us.” He strokes her hair and she snuggles into him. 

“You are the perfect person for me,” she replies. Declarations like that from her will always pierce him. But Betty is rarely wrong. So, if she think he’s worthy, maybe he is. 

Her head is laying on his chest and he holds her close. For the first time in years, he feels utterly at peace. This is exactly where he is meant to be. 

Her breathing becomes deep and even, the day catching up with both of them. Before he can drift off, one last jolt of adrenaline hits him. He is here _with her_ and this is so assuredly the beginning of their second chance. He squeezes her, wishing in that metaphorical way he could absorb her into his body. His joy is radiating through him. He holds her and grins unabashedly. 

He kisses her hair line and can’t help but whisper _I love you_ a few more times to her sleeping form. She must not be as completely out as he thought because she shifts, wrapping her arm thrown across his chest all the way around to his back. She kisses his sternum and says

_This is forever._

. . .

She is in a pastel dress on a roof. Her hair is down and she has a glass of wine in her hand. Although it is not quite Spring, it is unseasonably warm and sunny. The sun shines on her and she looks clean and glowing in that way only she can. She is surrounded by friends and she is laughing. 

It’s his book release party. His book that is not quite a memoir and certainly not fiction. 

He let her read it a week ago. She went through it in one sitting. His book which is about the murder of a town icon, gangs, serial killers, cults, drug lord parents, all the terrible things they lived through. But what it is really about, at the center of it all, is how a grounding love can save you. His book about how loving her, how them loving each other, made them survivors, even while all the madness swirled around, together they made each other thrive. But he wrote this book in jail, so in the end, his story is the tale of two kids and how the world almost didn’t break them. 

_That book is the past,_ he thinks as he watches her. He doesn’t feel broken anymore. He’s whole. 

For Betty, the most startling thing about the book was how familiar it was to her. Not because she lived it, but because of the way it was written. It’s exactly how she would have written their story. She knows he loves her, but this book is not an idealized version of her. He always _sees_ her, he loves her because of her flaws. To him, her raw passion is not something to be put away and contained, it’s to be honed and nurtured. It’s a book about her and him and all the odds stacked against them. Always them at the center of the storm. It’s exactly how she has always viewed her life. 

Although the story is familiar, it’s heartbreaking all the same to relive how they were ripped apart. It’s hard to read about how over he considered his life was once he was incarcerated. The wounds are still fresh. 

After she turns the final page she is desperate to be near him. They take off almost all their clothes, but instead of sex, he just holds her. Skin on skin. The reassurance that they are together, as close as they can be. 

All the pre-reviews for _The Sweetest Water_ are glowing. The party is a huge success. All the characters of his book and of his life mill around, smiling and congratulating him. Toni and Cheryl share secrets in a corner. Jughead’s ever sharp eye notices Toni isn’t drinking any alcohol and the love the couple has always shared is more palpable than ever. Archie looks adoringly at Veronica and Veronica basks. Jellybean brings her girlfriend, a little goth blonde named Sabrina. His dad hugs him close and whispers how proud he is. 

As the party dies down he approaches Betty. She’s facing the city, he comes up behind her and brackets his arms around her. She relaxes against him as she enjoys the view. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she says as she places her hand on top of his. She takes her pointer finger and rubs his ring finger on his left hand. He does the same to her and they don’t say anything, but both their hearts race with intention. It’s not time yet, but they both feel it, the way they have always felt it. Sometimes they just touch those symbolic spots on each other, the spots that will one day mark them together forever. 

“What about you?” he asks in her ear. “Your article is going to be published next month, it’s going to change everything.” Her expose is about to be published in The New Yorker putting her in the same league as Ronan Farrow, among others. 

“All I can think about is all the new leads it’s going to generate. How many more people will come forward.” He watches her mind race. 

“You’re not done with this?” he asks carefully.

“No. Not even close. There is so much left to uncover, to expose.” She sounds assured and a little excited. He massages the space between her shoulder blades, his incredible Hitchcock Blonde. 

“You have your work cut out for you,” he states. 

“I do,” she agrees as she leans back further into him, tilting her head up so her lips are near his ear. “Do you wanna help?” she whispers. 

It’s simultaneously the sexiest and most romantic thing he has ever heard.

He spins her around to face him. Instead of answering her, he kisses her soundly. As the kiss ends she tilts her chin up and smiles, rubs the tip of her nose against his, a little eskimo kiss. Their eyes look into each others sparkling with delight and love. 

He’s going to marry her someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I was really inspired by last weeks episode and couldn't help but sneak that instantly iconic line into my story. 
> 
> I hope you weren't disappointed by my last chapter. I hope I can write more stories, but if this is all I ever manage, this has been a wonderful experience :) 
> 
> Thank you everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on five chapters, updating about once a week. You will see more of Betty's perspective next chapter. My tumblr is itstrashwitch@tumblr.com it's kind of goth and not Riverdale centric, but I'd still love to hear from you!


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